Counting Blessings in the Dark
Blog / Produced by The High Calling
I ran up past the narrow wooden steps that led to her back door; my hand brushed the old railing. The door was slightly ajar, as always. I pushed a little further inside and called you-hoo—the code word that everyone in the neighborhood knew. The answering you-hoo came, then the short, rapid clicks of heels on linoleum. I let myself inside to cookies and a small dish of custard. Good as they would be, they weren’t why I came. I came for her.
I called her “Grandma,” though she was our next-door neighbor, the person on the street who sat at her window and knew everything going on. My father said she was nosey. I thought she was wonderful. She encouraged me to read and talked for hours about men and women who overcame adversity. She taught me Bible verses, including her favorite, Phil. 4:11: “I have learned in all things to be content.”
Her intense enthusiasm stood in contrast to her actual life. Over the years, Grandma developed a serious heart condition and her heart attacks were frequent. Three-quarters of her stomach was removed, and recently she was declared legally blind. One by one, she was increasingly unable to fully participate in the activities she loved. I put myself in her place and knew how discouraged I would feel. But that was not Grandma’s response.
I have learned to be content, she would say, with what I have. She could no longer attend celebrations or gatherings but listened passionately to the stories of those who had gone. No longer able to read, she would ask others to read to her or tell her about a loved book. She kept track of birthdays and anniversaries. She forgot about what she was now denied and saw beauty in what she received. To Grandma, everything was grace.
Her rare gift of extracting blessings from even the darkest moments was never more evident than the few minutes following a brief heart attack where the doctors pronounced her dead. Later, in intensive care, she sent for me. As I entered her cubicle, she almost leapt off the bed. Hooked up to every conceivable tube and monitor, she said, “Listen, I have to tell you this. Today I got a glimpse of what lies beyond this life. And it’s beautiful. There is nothing to fear. Never be afraid to die.” She lay back on the pillow serene.
And I marveled. In a brush with death, she was still ecstatic, still had a blessing to pass on.
I called her “Grandma,” though she was our next-door neighbor, the person on the street who sat at her window and knew everything going on. My father said she was nosey. I thought she was wonderful. She encouraged me to read and talked for hours about men and women who overcame adversity. She taught me Bible verses, including her favorite, Phil. 4:11: “I have learned in all things to be content.”
Her intense enthusiasm stood in contrast to her actual life. Over the years, Grandma developed a serious heart condition and her heart attacks were frequent. Three-quarters of her stomach was removed, and recently she was declared legally blind. One by one, she was increasingly unable to fully participate in the activities she loved. I put myself in her place and knew how discouraged I would feel. But that was not Grandma’s response.
I have learned to be content, she would say, with what I have. She could no longer attend celebrations or gatherings but listened passionately to the stories of those who had gone. No longer able to read, she would ask others to read to her or tell her about a loved book. She kept track of birthdays and anniversaries. She forgot about what she was now denied and saw beauty in what she received. To Grandma, everything was grace.
Her rare gift of extracting blessings from even the darkest moments was never more evident than the few minutes following a brief heart attack where the doctors pronounced her dead. Later, in intensive care, she sent for me. As I entered her cubicle, she almost leapt off the bed. Hooked up to every conceivable tube and monitor, she said, “Listen, I have to tell you this. Today I got a glimpse of what lies beyond this life. And it’s beautiful. There is nothing to fear. Never be afraid to die.” She lay back on the pillow serene.
And I marveled. In a brush with death, she was still ecstatic, still had a blessing to pass on.
Ethics is about knowing and doing what is good or right, and workplace ethics is about knowing and doing what is good or right at work. For the Christian, this means applying the Bible and other resources of the Christian faith to help decide and do what is ethical or moral at work.