Notes From A Broken Heart

"Count your blessings, name them one by one Count your blessings, see what God has done; Count your blessings, name them one by one; Count your many blessings, see what God has done. A department store in Chicago hired me as a teenager to be a salesperson.  In fact, that marked my entry into the world of work.  A supervisor taught me how to greet potential customers with a smile plastered on my face and to ask,  "How can I help you?" Soon, I got the hang of it, especially since we were paid by the hour and not by commissions. Taking inventory of stock on the racks and tables, along with various articles of women's clothing in the storeroom occurred with some frequency and became the only downside to my "grown-up job."  Pure drudgery! Fast forward through decades and assorted jobs, as well as through the flotsam and jetsam life often deposits and come face to face with my unyielding belief that "Life is hard! Too hard!"  My nature seemed to dwell o

  "I have so much to thank my Jesus for, since I've been a soldier in this Holy War. I count my blessings one by one, Just to see what God has done. I have so much to thank my Jesus for." Through the fog of childhood memories, early in the morning, I can hear Mother singing.  No matter the condition our lives were in---finances, provisions, or peace---Mother sang this song of thanksgiving. I'd lie in bed wondering how much"so much" weighed and what the list of blessings included   Did she know that much more than I? Didn't she realize we were poor? Evidently, she did not since she sang that song, along with countless other hymns of praise all my life.  When I started attending Sunday school and especially after I learned about Pentecost, a seminal question rang.  I knew she spoke English.  Had she done as onlookers had accused people who began speaking in "other tongues" on the day of Pentecost?  Was Mother "filled with new wine" ? No