"I WAS COMPLAINING I HAD NO SHOES...."

It was early Autumn,  a few days before the end of September.  The slowly ebbing heat of the mid-afternoon sun  still cast an uncomfortable residual warmth from the scorching summer.  The traffic was agonizingly slow on the four-lane thoroughfare that I decided to take on my way home from an errand.  As we stopped for a traffic light, my thoughts unwittingly wandered to some painful, often-visited path of late that churned out unintended- yet expected-  consequences:  sadness, tears, sorrow.  It was an exercise in futility to completely  ward off those feelings when they hit and inadvertently, I had to give in to the unleashed hills and valleys and eventual plateaus of emotion.   Never one to feel sorry for myself before, a recent personal tragedy shattered my equilibrium and left me reeling from the blow.  That day, as those painful thoughts began to consume me, I was distracted  by something on the street ahead, a human drama of somebody else's pain.

I could have easily ignored her, a young, white woman dressed in a brown,  hooded jacket with a loose, white-speckled beanie on her head.  Stray blonde locks escaped on the sides of her face.   She was of moderate height, with faded jeans hanging on her thin frame that the baggy jacket failed to completely hide.  Walking toward the stopped cars, she was holding an  off-white cardboard that caught my attention.  It was a hand-written sign that the glare of the sun half-obliterated from my view but I was able to make out the last word: "food".  Sights such as this were commonplace in some streets in town but something about this young woman stirred in me a feeling I could not quite define. Pity?  Sadness?  She looked straight and her eyes bore that distant, almost detached stare.  For somebody who was panhandling, she seemed disinterested to take alms as she held her sign below waist level.  Her face did not show that hardness often obvious from those who had been on street life for a long time.  Rather, there was that almost shy softness,  a haunted, far-away look, like those of a reluctant soul in hopeless, painful expose'.  She was walking two lanes away on my right side and as I reached for my purse for some change, I did not know how I could get her attention.  My dilemma was resolved when the traffic started moving and she went to the sidewalk farther away from me to dodge the oncoming vehicles.  That was the last I saw of her but that scene of human despair stayed with me as a profound lesson in gratitude.

November is  almost synonymous to Thanksgiving. Although gratitude to the Lord should always be a part of one's daily worship, this feeling of being blessed by His tender mercies seems more acutely felt and deeply acknowledged on Thanksgiving month. There is a festive aura that surrounds this time of the year enhanced by the cool, crisp  air and the blissful panorama of multi-colored leaves reflecting the soft, burnished glow of the mild autumn sun,  things that afford us a more profound spiritual reflection  about the timeless and the infinite. 

 One's conjured image of Thanksgiving would  always ostensibly feature the warmth and love of family and friends surrounding a table laden with food.  It is a time for fun, laughter, togetherness, gratitude.  Those blessings should dispel all negative emotions, if only for a day.  But the feeling of gratitude when cultivated and expressed daily, would transport our emotions to a higher plane,  not just for the moment.  As I thought about that young woman and her plight, I prayed for her, and my gratitude for all of my life's abundant blessings was immensely renewed.  Who was she?  What were the unfortunate events and circumstances that drove her to such life in the streets?  Where were her parents, her loved ones?  There was a quote I learned as a youth that vividly came to mind as I contemplated on the dichotomy of life:  "I was complaining I had no shoes, until I saw a man (woman) who had no feet." How often do we mistakenly magnify our own needs and pain when they could easily be eclipsed by countless human sufferings all around us?  Without warning, I heard loud and clear the Scriptures' gentle voice that touched my errant soul:  "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." - Matt. 11:28-30 -

The proverbial November of one's life need not be staid and desultory for it holds a cornucopia of blessings all its own.  Our halcyon days of spring and summer should have left in their wake a feeling of contentment and peace allowing us to instinctively sever that anachronistic link to things that are less important in designs of eternal significance.  That, I would attempt to remember as I resolutely cling like an enduring leaf to life's cold winter. As I take an inventory of those priceless tender mercies from a loving Father, I would endeavor to  once again hear the reassuring voice of the Spirit and its eternal promise:  For "my burden is light".  Then in quiet retrospection, I would look back to that fateful autumn day and remember that young woman with the brown hooded jacket and a speckled beanie on her head.  With a heart full of gratitude, I would again imagine that haunting countenance of hopelessness and offer a prayer for her who had unknowingly taught me one of life's greatest lessons, she "who had no feet"!