February 10: Good As Gold, Tiny Tim, Counting Blessings

Lame beggars, blind men...

"And how did little Time behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content.

"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better.  Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard.  He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men see."

This passage is Charles Dickens at his sentimental best.  He can always take a small child, preferably one with a terrible affliction, and wring out your heart and put it on the clothesline to dry.  That's my heart, flapping in the wind there.  Of course, Tiny Tim is meant to represent all the sick, unfortunate, poor children of the world.

I was thinking of this little exchange between Bob and Mrs. Cratchit last night.  (Yes, I have a very boring life.  I spend my time thinking about famous Victorian novels.)  The reason I was focusing on these two paragraphs is simple:  I tend to lose sight of the important things in my life.  When I'm in the middle of some kind of crisis (financial, medical, personal), I don't think about who made lame beggars walk and blind men see.  I think, "Holy shit!  What am I going to do?"

At Christmas time, it's a little easier to maintain a proper perspective.  I'm reminded on a daily basis during the holidays about people who are less fortunate than myself.  Bell ringers remind me.  Toys for Tots reminds me.  Food banks remind me.  And, of course, Tiny Tim, in his various incarnations, reminds me.  I am a blessed individual.

However, come February and March, Tiny Tim has been packed up with the Christmas tree and manger scene, stowed away in the attic until next November or December.  My life becomes all about me again, and I pick up my burdens and carry them around, all day.  I forget to give thanks for the great things I've been given:  jobs, home, wife, kids, family, church, toothpaste, drinking water, underwear, oxygen, breath.

That's why I was thinking about this passage last night.  I was stressed, working feverishly on the poetry lesson for the second graders.  I started getting upset with small things--a dried-out pen, a blob of spaghetti sauce on the throw rug.  I forgot Tiny Tim and his little crutch and everything he is supposed to embody.  Remembering Bob's little story about Tiny Tim in church brought me back to reality, made my count my blessings.

Saint Marty needs to keep counting today.  One, he woke up.  Two, he made it to work safely.  Three, he...