Lucky

I have NEVER, never, ever had anyone anywhere tell me to my face that they think that I’m lucky. Evah. It’s a good thing, too. Because I’d loose a friend. I’d laugh in their face, and they would never speak to me again. Not to be insulting, but there is nothing lucky about my existence. There is nothing envious about me. When friends would tell me that someone else didn’t like me because they were jealous of me, I’d say, Why? I legitimately don’t know why anyone would be jealous of me or consider me “lucky.”

An amazing friend of mine emailed me. She’s an accomplished freelance journalist and she’s working on getting another degree. She created a humor magazine in college over ten years ago that still runs and she spearheaded a comedy festival that was the first of its kind at the University. She, above all people, told me in the email that I was lucky. She thinks I’m lucky because I have a family of my own.

Lucky?

I’m lucky because I have diapers to change, never ending laundry, no privacy, no time to myself, piles of dishes, a house that is never clean, and am barely able to pursue my passions? No. She considers me “lucky” because I share the same last name with my best friend, two people depend on me for their well being and care, and I share my life with them.

It is beyond easy to look at everything that is wrong with our life and everything that is wrong with ourselves. It’s practically human nature to see things negatively. Every now and then we should look at our lives as someone else looking in. We would be quicker to see what was going right, what was working, and we would think of ourselves as “lucky.”

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. James 1:17

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