The soft swish of
the dishwasher, the barely-audible hum of the refrigerator, and the steady
click-click of the battery-operated kitchen clock on the wall surround me as I
sit down to write. My husband sleeps,
and a secretive darkness covers the windows as I sit at the kitchen table,
savoring the gift of quiet solitude.
Water gurgles out of the dishwasher and down the sink drain
as I sit in reflective silence. My eyes
take in the comforts of my home—the home my husband and I built twelve years
ago. I am surrounded by the blessing of order,
peace and tranquility, and I am deeply thankful.
Others live in constant fear
Of bombs and missiles coming near.
Children wail and parents cry.
Heaps of rubble meet the eye.
There’s much trouble all around.
Racial hatred, great offense—
None of it makes any sense.
William hides beneath his bed
As angry words his father said
To his mom brought such a fright
He cringed at sounds in dead of night.
Hopeless hoarder wades through trash.
In her house, there’s just a path.
Angry, broken, in despair,
Life weighs too much to even care.
I’m thankful for our country dear
In spite of all the wrong that’s here.
To live in freedom—oh how blessed!
May families live in godliness.
I’m thankful that I have a home,
A quiet place to call my own—
Not homeless, wandering around.
I count my blessings: they abound!
Copyright © 2015
Elaine Beachy
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