A bad experience accidentally sampling wine as a six-year old permanently scarred my taste buds against any desire for it. The only association I now have with the drink is…yuck. But there’s something I like less: the kind of wine spelled with an “h”.
As much as I despise whining, I find myself doing an awful lot of it. Didn’t I just do the dishes? How did the laundry basket fill up so fast? Why does the alarm have to go off so early every day? Does the cat really have to cough up a hairball every morning? Do I have to whine about everything? (Yes, I even annoy my own self with my whining.)
The controversy over coffee cups devoid of holiday images stirred my awareness of just how ridiculous whining can be. Really? Complaining about a cup? Why can’t we just be grateful we have sufficient income to purchase overpriced lattes when more than half the world hopes for one good meal a day? Why can’t we focus our energies on something more productive, like helping the poor or fighting the gross injustices of our generation?
A perceptive children’s author wrote a poem about WHYning and Complaining. Most of our whining is just that. WHYning. Wondering WHY the world can’t be more conducive to our own comfort, security, needs, and desires. Otherwise known as…discontent.
I’ve decided once and for all to stop all my WHYning. After all, the sink is full of dishes because I have an amazing family who just ate a great meal together. An overflowing laundry bin means we have enough clothes to keep us warm each day of the week. That aggravating alarm goes off so early because I have a job I love, and income as a result. And the cat? Well, the kids love her.
My prayer is that I’ll live a life of gratitude—for the big things and the little things. For the annoying things. And even for the painful ones.
As my favorite holiday approaches, I want to serve up a platter of thanksgiving. Hold the whine.