Troubles.
Sometimes, when I am really freaked out about money (not enough for grad school and a home) and down in the dumps and super pissy about it, I yell on the streets of New York, “WHAT THE HELL IS MONEY?!” It’s my way of telling myself, in the most humbling way possible, that money isn’t my hope and my answer, and therefore will not get me down today. Then I start saying (out loud) to the little boy I take care of all the things I am grateful for. (Don’t worry about the ‘hell’… He hears the F-word from his English parents all the time, and I think he appreciates my anger towards my hangups.) I next ask the little boy what he is glad he has, and we talk about mommy, daddy, a safe home, yummy food to eat, comfortable clothes, and a true, living God who meets all of our needs, sometimes in the nick of time. Then we thank God for the birds, who remind us of God’s provision again, but who do not remind us of his protection, as they often smash themselves into high-rises. (Perhaps God can’t save us from our free will). Instead, we like to think of the police as our reminder of His good protection.
Smile at a stranger today. Your life isn’t so bad, and neither is mine.
