An End to Criticalness?

I've been realizing that my last several posts have had a little negative spin to them.  To be sure, sarcastic observation is kind of the trademark of my generation, but I've been convicted that my complaining is not really giving you all an accurate picture of life here.  Thus, I've been trying to see the bright side of various things that are not my favorite.  For example:

When I get frustrated by...  

...I think about...





Neighbor kids digging through my garbage, prying open
dirty diapers to see what's inside...

...the same kids standing on the road watching
a bird in a tree in complete fascination.

Roosters crowing outside the window, waking up our
napping baby...

...every time I eat chicken or eggs I know that they
are locally grown, cageless and organic.

Sneezing my head off from allergies...

...that we live in a beautiful green environment.

 A baby who wants to eat all the time, day and night...

...how healthy and strong our son is and that he
has never had a problem with latching or nursing.

Innocent's constant interest in what I'm doing, from
changing diapers to cooking to working on the computer...

...how we have a bright, inquisitive boy who values
relationship over tv or toys.

Strangers asking to hold our baby everytime I walk
outside (and sometimes coming to the door to ask)...

...that we live in a community oriented culture, where
people are so happy for us to have a beautiful, healthy son.

Bleach spots on my clothes...

...that I don't have to wash my own clothes, and can
instead help support a kind, young widow and her kids.

Feeling lonely for friends...

...how my husband and I are truly best friends, and
spend our free time and energy on our marriage and family.

Fred traveling alot and being called at all

hours on all days...

...my husband having a job that uses his skills and
allows him to help poor and hurting people.

So all in all, life here, though not easy, is full of wonderful things (even when I'm typing one-handed with a nursing baby in the other arm and being interrupted to spell words for the letter Innocent is writing to his grandmother).  We really do have a blessed life here.