Job 1:20–22 (NKJV)
Several years ago, while living in Marshfield, I regularly stopped at Casey’s on my way to work for a breakfast burrito and a salted caramel cappuccino. I was a regular there and knew the early shift workers by name.
One morning, around six-thirty, I stopped in and saw the assistant manager.
“How are you today, Rhonda?”
She began telling me how it was already turning into a bad day. The soda fountain was broken. One of the ovens needed fixing. Someone had called in. The problems kept coming, and the day had barely started.
I told her she wasn’t even giving the day a chance.
“Life is too short for a bad day,” I explained. “Bad moments? Certainly. We all have them. Sometimes several arrive close together. But we can’t allow those moments to dictate the whole day.”
She looked at me, smiled, and said, “You sure have a funny way of seeing things.”
I nodded. As I paid for my purchase and headed toward the door, I replied, “I bet you will, too, moving forward.”
I still think about that exchange.
I wouldn’t suggest that every difficult day can be reduced to a few bad moments. Some days bring losses that change our lives. But even then, pain doesn’t have to be the only truth we acknowledge.
As this week ends, what comes to mind first? The difficult conversation? The interruption? The thing that broke or the plan that fell apart? Those moments can become the whole story we tell about a day. Repeat that often enough, and we can finish Friday convinced the entire week was bad.
Take another look.
Where did someone show you kindness? What provision did you receive? What gave you a reason to smile? What did you have this morning that you once prayed for?
Gold miners worked through dirt and gravel in search of something valuable. Finding it required effort and patience. Gratitude calls for that kind of attention, too. We have to be willing to look beyond whatever first catches our eye.
Some of the goodness we overlook has become familiar. Maybe too familiar: a home, a job, transportation, the ability to walk unaided or breathe without a machine. We can receive those gifts for years and become so accustomed to them that one inconvenience occupies more of our attention than all of them combined.
I have had to practice this perspective through loss.
I buried Daddy in 1985 and Dad in 1988. Nineteen years and two months after losing Dad, I buried my Mums.
Those were days of raw grief.
Even then, I could worship. I could thank God for the blessings I still had and for the people I had been given the privilege of loving. Through my sorrow, I could find joy in knowing their suffering had ended and their healing had taken place in the arms of their Savior.
Even those days held goodness.
Job’s account places grief and worship together. After receiving devastating news, he tore his robe, shaved his head, and fell to the ground in worship. From within that sorrow came his declaration: “Blessed be the name of the LORD.” (Job 1:21, NKJV)
His worship didn’t mean his losses hurt any less. It meant his losses hadn’t taken away every reason to worship.
Throughout this week, we have considered responding faithfully and tending what God has awakened within us. That attention belongs in the ordinary hours, too. We can practice it by remembering His provision and thanking Him for mercies we might otherwise overlook.
Before this week ends, name some of the gold you found. Perhaps someone helped you. Perhaps a prayer sustained you. Perhaps you discovered that you still had strength for the next step.
Give those moments your attention, too.
There may have been hard digging this week. There may have been tears. Yet here you are, with another opportunity to recognize God’s goodness and give Him thanks.
Give the day a chance. There may be more gold in it than you have stopped to notice.
