Gratitude

With dinner done, the dishes in the sink, the woman practically stumbled toward the child's room to say a hurried prayer. She trudged past half a dozen unfinished chores - the floor half-swept, the broom still out, three dozen unmatched socks strewn out across the floor, but she trudged past them nonetheless, like a grim-faced soldier, intent on doing her duty... Sliding tired legs between cold sheets and laying head to pillow beside the toe-headed child, she felt, all at once, the hurry pour out of her like the last drops of water go slurping down the drain. They read "The Story About Ping" by Marjorie Flack and afterward they started counting blessings...

God, thank you for blowing out candles in ball jars, and for strength and health to dance to the records of patsy cline; thank you for the rocking chair pressed close up to baby sister's crib, and for singing goodnight songs like "baby mine don't you cry..."; thank you for daddy who always fixes things, even water pipes, and for Uncle Ry-Ry who just finished the bar examination; thank you for flower girl dresses and white ballet slippers; for turtle suits and "boinkin' it up" on the diving board, for jam without bread and 'utella on a spoon; thank you for ribbon banners and ribbon wands and for learning new words, like "desticable," which may be applied generously to the behavior of others, but never to ours.

The woman became so carried away with gratitude that she even thanked God for the 'tarantuler' which her husband had found squatting in the cement planter beside the rose bush that evening.

No, you can't do that, interrupted the girl, 'tarantulers' are bad... when my daddy caught one you got really mad!

Yes, said the woman, you're quite right, but now I feel a little guilty because, after all, God did make tarantulers...the same as he made you and me. (But really, we're not the same; no, not at all.)

Is there anything else? said the woman. What have we forgotten?

Love, Mommy, the girl whispered, we halfta thank him for love.

Yes, said the woman, of course: for love. And that reminds me of something I've forgotten.

What is it? asked the girl.

Why, it's the most important thing of all: you.