And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off this power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's clerk's; for there he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch. Think of that! Bob had but fifteen "Bob" a-week himself; he pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet the Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house!
I know you're probably sick of me writing about being grateful for the blessings in my life. I think the reason I keep coming back to this subject is pretty simple: I fall into the trap of feeling sorry for myself all the time. I start focusing on finances, or the size of my house in comparison to the size of my family, and suddenly I'm caught in a spiral of negativity. If I let it go long enough, I practically have to gnaw off my foot to escape.
|Butter my butt and call me blessed!|
I am not Bob Cratchit. I make a little more than fifteen bob a-week. I don't have a sick child. Our house, though small, is warm and keeps out the snow and rain. When the Ghost of Christmas Present happens to stop on my threshold, he sprinkles my family with his torch. We have a good life. We have food and clothing. In a few weeks, we're all going on a trip together. I just need to remind myself of these facts. These blessings.
Join Saint Marty in this little mantra: "I am blessed. Ooommmmmm. I am blessed. Ooommmmmm. I wish I was more blessed. Ooommmmm. I wish I had more money. Ooommmmmm. I wish I had a three-bedroom, two-bathroom house. Ooommmmm..."