I consider myself a grateful person, but when I really, I mean real-ly take the time to con-si-der myself, I am not, in fact grateful. Like, at all. Like, often. I'm not going to mince words. I grew up a rich bitch. Up until the age of, oh, say, 10, I had gorgeous clothes. I had the favor of teachers, friends, friends' parents. I got good grades. I did not want for anything.

My family's life changed, got flip-topped, tumbly bumbly when I was in the fifth grade. I became angry, resentful, bitter, and ultimately, the seeds of ungratefulness were sown.

Since that year, I have seen the ways that God took certain things away from me in my young life, e.g. prized possessions I "lost" or even the security that my parents would always be together. I can now see so clearly how the Lord was teaching me to depend only on Him. To know His grace. And in turn to be a gracious giver and a grateful receiver.

Lately I have moved back into the ungrateful realm. Just leave your dirty dinner plate out on the table. See what happens. Meet Ungrateful Personified.

And yet in the past month, we had someone come and live with us who taught me gratefulness. She occupied our guest room but only for a fraction of the day and then slept in there at night. In that short amount of time --what is a month in the shadow of a lifetime?--she offered me a glimpse of another life. A life that is seeking after the heart of God, a spirit that can find the humor in the most annoying of predicaments, a countenance that is kind and lovely.

I am different after this past month of August 2009 thanks to you. You know who you are.