Here in the USA, many people spent time over the holiday thinking about their blessings. You know the old expression “if you want to feel rich, count your blessings.” It works. It works as long as you’re doing it. It doesn’t work if you’re climbing over a sales clerk at the Wal Mart trying to reach a toy before your neighbor from church gets it first.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “blessings.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

3 thoughts on “Blessings”

  1. People think too much about all the things that go wrong and not enough about what goes right in their lives. Sometimes we analyze bad events so that we can learn and avoid them in the future.

    Unfortunately, we tend to spend more time ruminating about what’s bad in life than is helpful to us. This obsession with negative events provides the setup for anxiety and depression. In order to keep this from occurring, we should strive to think and savor the events that went well in our lives.

    There’s a book titled Flourish: A Visionary New Understanding of Happiness and Well-Being by Martin E. P. Seligman that talks about “The Three Blessings.” The premise to this is the following: Set aside ten minutes of your time before you go to sleep and write down three things (positive events) that went well for you today. These three things don’t need to be earthshattering in importance, but they can be, if you want. Next to each positive event write the reason as to why they went well and answer the question, “Why did this happen?”

    Do this daily, and the odds are you’ll be less depressed, happier and addicted to this exercise six months from now.

  2. The carriage had sat there for so long that they had completely forgotten the day , it had been towed there , and left . Getting wet in the rain , baking in the blistering sun , its shiny window panes , shattered one by one , the paint peeled off , and grass grew in patches on the roof . The doors were locked , but boys , being boys , had discovered a way of wriggling themselves inside the carriage , and playing hide and seek , producing ghost sounds , putting their lips against closed window shutters . Wind whistled through gaps in the floor , and they called to each other through the bathroom door.

    Some times , they would be spied by some worker in the work yard , and stopping in midst of sending showers of sparks down , pushing his welding helmet up , a multi lingual oath would be hurled in their direction , and they would scamper off. The oath would be untranslatable, as the workers came in from other states. But the intent was clear , and the boys didn’t want trouble .

    It was fun , so long as it lasted , which was their entire childhood . Both were roughly eight years old , and the coach was their plaything , for so long as they remembered.

    On a sunny day , some workers , in their greasy overalls, came picking their teeth with blades of grass , and looked at the coach . The doors were opened , the roosting pigeons chased out , and they pointed and talked . Talked and looked at the coach from all the sides . They looked at it , touched it , knocked it here and there , as if it were a cattle for sale .

    That afternoon , two white clad , official looking people , came and saw the coach and made some important scribblings in the notepads they held in their hands.

    The very next day ,the work started. They came armed with sheets of tin , to weld with yellow rubber gloved hands , and acetylene torches that singed and smoked and sent zinging sparks . Carpenters hammered away at the seats inside . New seats were installed , and shutters repaired . Cans of paint lay waiting on the grass.

    Sitting far way , dangling their legs from a concrete staircase on the platform , one boy asked the other ” What would have happened actually ?” They were quite worried at the transformation their plaything was undergoing .

    “Blessings , you fool ! It got blessings !!” Replied the other , spitting a gob onto the railway tracks , below them.

  3. He couldn’t count his blessings because he didn’t believe in them. Vince couldn’t believe in them just the way he couldn’t believe in religion and churches and pious clergy, as well as sanctimonious church goers. It wasn’t that when he became an adult he was angry or depressed. He was so intelligent and well read that although he never forgot his background he had completely come to terms with its impact. Vince was very bright, very talented, non-argumentative, and always happy living his chosen lifestyle. It wasn’t that it had been an easy journey. People seemed drawn to him. They enjoyed his company. He was more fortunate than most in having the skills to overcome his early experiences. As a nine year old boy he was placed in a religiously run orphanage simply because his divorced mother could not take care of him and his siblings. It was his experience that those religious people who administered to the orphans were unkind and cruel. He grew to hate the religious administrators and worker bees. Vince never spoke in depth about what had happened to him but one might suspect there may have even been sexual abuse. Once he came to terms with it all that was the end of it in his mind: he never wanted to speak about it at all. All one has to do is to research the subject of sexual abuse and other types of abuses all over the world in orphanages to understand how horrible it might have been.

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