When I was a young impressionable kid, I grew up going to catechism classes (a.k.a. Sunday school) every week. One of the ideas that I was indoctrinated with, is that I should always be thankful. I was told I should begin every morning with a morning prayer, a “thank you Jesus” for a new day, and the good life I had.
Somewhere along the way from that point to where I am now, Jesus and I decided to walk different paths, but I chose to hang on to the lesson – be thankful.
“Ooo-ooo-ooh, good coffee, strong coffee.” -Jars Of Clay
Every weekday morning, after getting dressed for work, I’d head over to a nearby coffee shop for breakfast. I keep coming back because the coffee is oh so good. As with most reluctant office drones, I don’t consider myself awake until I have my morning coffee. So every weekday morning, it will be a ritual of sorts for me. I’d order by kopi-c kosong, and as I trade a ringgit and twenty sen for my wake-up juice, I’d never fail to thank my server.
I never take it for granted. One day, if they so choose, they could all pack up and leave, and my coffee would cost more. Or the operators could just decide not to serve good coffee. I am thankful that I am not left in a lurch. The power is not within my six twenty-sen coins. No, money is nothing unless people do you the favor of accepting it in exchange for something you want.
I’m thankful for my morning coffee. And I’m thankful that I usually receive so much more than I give. That’s something I always keep in conscious awareness and constant acknowledgement. That has never changed. The only real thing that has changed, is that I’ve gone from being thankful to Jesus, to being thankful to my Myanmarese coffee shop staff.