Thursday, 21 July 2011

No Grace

I don't say grace at meals. I don't mind if you do, just don't ask me to. Part of it I suppose is the endless chuckling at my name when it comes up, though I have gotten used to it. But mostly I just don't see why we should make a religion out of thanking the Man Upstairs for food and not for anything else.

Imagine if it were a cultural norm to say a prayer of thanks before using cosy socks, a hot water bottle, a cup of tea, a friendly cat, thick curtains, fleecy blankets (it's the dead of winter here! can you tell?). Or for the phone line, the modem, the computer, and the cables that run under the sea all around the world to enable these connections. Or my favourite shirt, the old car that still runs well, my jobs that pay me money, good books (oh BOY, good books!!), the beach...

I know food is the first prerequisite for survival, and I don't take it for granted. But I'll say my silent thanks for these other things too, because they make life what it is.
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