“When ye will offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving unto the Lord, offer it at your own will.” – Leviticus 22:29 KJV

One day, while paying my electric bill, I decided to thank the company for the service they were providing me. “Thanks for my electricity,” I said, “It’s really quite a bargain for all the benefits I receive.” “What!” said the lady behind the counter, in amazement, “That’s the first time anyone has ever thanked us. All I ever hear around here are complaints.”

It’s a challenge to grow up with a thankful heart. From an early age we are exposed to a culture of complainers, gripers, grumblers, and critics. We complain about the weather, traffic, food, work, neighbors, bills, the government, church, and life in general. Worst of all, we are ungrateful toward God. It would be hard to count the number of complaints and criticisms that are daily spoken before Him and against Him. How can we, who have received so much, be thankful for so little?

One of the great indicators of true spirituality is not measured by how many times we go to church, how big our Bibles are, or how long we pray, but it is measured by the level of gratitude that is in our hearts. When we are ungrateful, the heart of God is saddened, the Holy Spirit is grieved, and the joy of the Lord is quenched within us.

Being thankful sweetens you, grumbling sours you; being thankful brings sunshine to your countenance, being ungrateful casts a shadow; being thankful brings a melody to your words, criticism makes you sound like a clanging cymbal; being thankful keeps your feet on the pathway of celebration, complaint takes you down the road of despair.

When our hearts are filled with gratefulness we may feel like our thanksgiving is inadequate, but we can be certain that our thanksgiving is always appropriate. It will gladden the heart of God to hear your heartfelt thanks being freely offered to Him today.

The Shoes

My alarm went off — it was Sunday again;
I was tired — it was my one day to sleep in.
But the guilt I’d have felt the rest of the day
Would have been too much, so I’d go; I’d pray.

I showered and shaved, adjusted suit and tie,
Got there and swung into a pew just in time.
Bowing my head in humble prayer
Before I closed my eyes,
I saw that the shoe of the man next to me
Was touching my own and I sighed.

With plenty of room on either side,
I thought, “why do our soles have to touch?”
It bothered me so; he was glued to my shoe,

But it didn’t seem to bother him much.
Then the prayer began: “Heavenly Father,” someone said- -
But I thought, “Does this man with the shoes have no pride?”
They were dusty, worn, scratched end to end.
What’s worse, there were holes on the side!

“Thank You for blessings,” the prayer went on.
The shoe man said a quiet “amen.”
I tried to focus on the prayer,
But my thoughts were on his shoes again.

Aren’t we supposed to look our best
When walking through that door?
“Well, this certainly isn’t it,” I thought,
Glancing toward the floor.

Then the prayer ended and songs of praise began.
The shoe man was loud, sounding proud as he sang.
He lifted the rafters; his hands raised high;
The Lord surely heard his voice from the sky.

Then the offering was passed; what I threw in was steep.
The shoe man reached into his pockets, so deep,
And I tried to see what he pulled out to put in,
Then I heard a soft “clink,” as when silver hits tin.

The sermon bored me to tears–
And no lie–
It was the same for the shoe man,
For tears fell from his eyes.

At the end of the service, as is custom here,
We must greet the visitors and show them good cheer.
But I was moved inside to want to meet this man,
So after the closing, I shook his hand.

He was old, his skin dark, his hair a mess.
I thanked him for coming, for being our guest,
He said, “My name’s Charlie, glad to meet you, my friend,”
And there were tears in his eyes–but he had a wide grin.

“Let me explain,” he said, wiping his eyes.
“I’ve been coming for months, and you’re the first to say, “Hi.”
I know I don’t look like all the rest,
But I always try to look my best.”
“I polish my shoes before my long walk,
But by the time I get here they’re as dirty as chalk.”

My heart fell to my knees, but I held back my tears,
He continued, “And I must apologize for sitting so near.”

“But I know when I get here, I must look a sight.
And I thought . . . if I touched you, our souls might unite.”

I was silent for a moment knowing anything I said
Would pale in comparison, so I spoke from my heart not my head.

“Oh, you’ve touched me,” I said. “And taught me, in part,
That the best of a man is what’s in his heart.”
The rest, I thought, this man will never know. . .
How thankful I am that he touched my soul!