The other day on my walk, I came across a gentleman who was out watering some plants in his (very beautiful) yard.
“Your yard looks really nice,” I said.
“Thanks,” he replied. “It’s a lot of work.”
“I can imagine,” I said.
And then he said something that really struck me: “I wish I didn’t have it.” He said it slowly and with such a degree of regret in his voice; I knew he wasn’t kidding.
This lovely yard, filled with azaleas and clean, weed-free grass and gorgeous trees—and he wished he didn’t have it.
I thought about saying I understood—after all, our yard at Echowood, though nothing too lovely to behold, is itself a ton of work. We’ve decided that one would have to rake about 2 hours each day to keep up with the falling leaves and pine needles and keep things looking spiffy. Maybe it’s because we’ve only been here for a year-and-a-half, but I certainly don’t wish I didn’t have it.
“Well, it sure is pretty,” I finally remarked.
We wished each other a good day; he continued watering his plants, and I continued on my walk.
But it made me think. First, I thought how sad that here this man has this lovely yard—how fortunate he is!—yet he doesn’t seem to appreciate it at all. He is so blessed, but he sees his blessing as an inconvenience.
Then I began to think of the many ways I am just like that. I have my house at Echowood—a house that some people in this world would look at and think is a mansion—yet I so often find myself wishing it was bigger, nicer, had more windows, blah blah blah. I have my three wonderful sons—children I spent 5 long years praying for and not being sure I’d ever have—yet how many times each day do I feel inconvenienced by having to change a diaper or fetch a snack for one of them? I have my incredible gift of faith—and the joy of being a Catholic—yet every single weekend I find myself wishing I didn’t have to “bother” with going to Mass (even though I absolutely delight in it every time I go)!
Now, to be fair to the guy on the street, maybe the big house with the fancy yard was his wife’s idea, and he’s been the one stuck doing the maintenance all these years. Maybe he doesn’t really value pretty trees, flowers, and such; perhaps to him, a true blessing would be having a condo where all the lawn chores are done by the homeowners’ association. Maybe my admiration of his yard and his lack of enjoyment of it was kind of a case of “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”
Still, when I think of his words, “I wish I didn’t have it,“ I am encouraged to be ever mindful of the fact that not only should I recognize my blessings, but I should take care to treat them and speak of them as such, as well.
