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Welcome to Whine Country

I am a chronic complainer. I grumble. I gripe. I have grievances. Sometimes my whining gets on my wife’s nerves. She says, “You should quit whining, Phil.” But I tell her, “I don’t like your tone of voice, Sweetie, it’s beginning to bother me.” I hate to admit it, but I have won the Wimbledon of Whining and the Grand Slam of Bellyaching all in the same week. These are the things I have found myself complaining about lately:

• The water from our tap. It leaves smudges on our cups.
• Why I have to follow my teenagers around the house shutting lights off. It’s a full-time job.
• Mosquitoes.
• Long waits in doctor’s offices with mediocre reading material.
• The weather, which includes snow in late April.
• Why the garbage truck never comes on time.
• Why all four wheels on my shopping cart go in opposite directions.
• How far I have to drive to church and why all the slow drivers switch lanes at precisely the same moment I do. Why can’t they get out of the cell phone lane?
  

In the midst of my whining, something happened. Our family took off on a trip to a third world country. We went with Compassion, a truly Christian child development agency whose motto is “Releasing children from poverty in Jesus’ name.” While we were there, God hit me with the shallowness of my outlook on life.

The vast majority of these kids don’t know who their father is.They don’t stand at the fridge wondering what’s for supper. There is no fridge. There is no supper.

I held children who were orphaned when their fathers were electrocuted trying to tap into power lines so the family could have one bare lightbulb in their house.

We stood in a village that a hurricane had completely leveled. Except for a church and the Compassion building. They told me the miraculous story with faces beaming. Yes, they’d lost everything. Yes, their homes had blown away. But the church was still standing.

And there I stood in mid-grumble. The guy who gripes about the weather and lights left on and waiting on doctors. These people have never seen a doctor. I’m the guy with trivial complaints like the fact that I’m losing my hair, that it’s gone underground and begun coming out my ears. What on earth do I have to complain about? My grumbling had been the death of my thanksgiving.

On the day we visited our sponsored child Carlos the temperature was almost unbearable and we ran out of bottled water. Never in my short life had I experienced such raging thirst. Suddenly Carlos’ step-mother pulled from a small icebox the greatest gift imaginable: an ice-cold bottle of Coca Cola. I ran my fingers over that bottle and giggled like a fourth grader who had just heard the funniest joke imaginable. I held that bottle up to the light then sipped it slowly, relishing every single drop as they crawled one by one down my eager throat. I have tasted Coca Cola since and I am amazed that they no longer use that glorious recipe. This drink was nectar straight from heaven. This drink was a companion and a friend and a teacher. It taught me to give thanks for each and every blessing while we hold it in our hand.

On the long flight home, I wrote a list of things I’m thankful for now that we’ve been in the Third World:

• Water that comes out of a tap. And it’s the color water should be.
• Lights in the house. Even if they’re on too much.
• A bed without large spiders in it. Especially when they hog all the blankets.
• “Don't have to plug my dose.” The assault on my nasal passages as we traveled through some of these communities was unbearable.
• Waiting for the doctor in a waiting room complete with leather sofas, an aquarium, and hope.
• Garbage dumps outside our cities. They many not always be on time picking up the trash, but at least we don’t have to share sidewalk space with it indefinitely.
• Shopping carts and grocery stores crammed with food. In my entire life, I don’t think I’ve ever had to literally go to bed hungry. I will purge “I’m starving” from my vocabulary.
• I’m thankful I get to drive to church. If we had to walk I wonder how many of us would show up.
• A place to sleep tonight.

Things still happen throughout my day that push my “whine” button. But more and more I’m learning to stop myself in mid-whine and let that whining give way to thanksgiving. This morning as I looked into the mirror, I found myself giving thanks for a comb and a toothbrush. Even if I only need one of them.

Related Reading:
Hitting rock bottom
Discover the Spirit-Filled life
Need advice? Ask us.

~Phil is an award-winning author and a popular speaker. Visit Phil Callaway at www.philcallaway.com