The ten lepers is a story about awareness. It is tempting to feel huffy about the nine men who were healed and failed to turn around to express appreciation. Jesus healed them all of the most gruesome and isolating disease of the day, and yet there was but a single person who thought to give thanks. 

I would never be so crass. 

This week I felt a surge of pleasure that my girls are part of a phenomenal arts program. They have opportunities to dance, and act, and sing in ways that stretch them beautifully. 

Surely that joy classifies me as grateful. Right? 

Listening to the news about California I am reminded of the gift of rain. What half a million displaced people wouldn't give for water to cascade down from the clouds about now. I had forgotten to be glad as I pulled on a coat. 

Another article covering the caravan headed to the border in hopes of asylum reminded me of the safety I easily take for granted. There is nothing I need run from. No uncertainty about where I will live. Let me add that to the list. 

A friend is in the hospital for another round of tests. I hold her in prayer, yet what she really wants is her own bed and a working body. Oh yeah. I have that. 

Asthma visits me each fall, such that I need an inhaler. I stood in line at the pharmacy for a refill, and noticed that the women behind the counter never seem to sit down. There is not a chair anywhere in sight. No matter what time of day I come, they are hustling. When she had a moment, or at least crammed one in, the pharmacist asked for my name. She handed me the prescription, and I swiped my card. I guessed that the copay is about a tenth of the cost without insurance. A tithe. I thought of the people in San Fransisco who are having trouble breathing. Wearing masks, even. What of the children with respiratory struggles? Thank you, Lord, for clear air. 

It would be easy to name ten blessings, or even a thousand. And yet easy does not always play out in my actions.