By Mark Andrew Beach

I am deeply grateful for you. Wishing you and your family a very Happy Thanksgiving.

Here’s a thought to consider as we head into this season of gratitude:

So many people are fixated—greedily—on what they don’t have. That’s an interesting thought, isn’t it? How can someone be greedy for something they lack? Isn’t greed usually associated with those who have too much, who hoard, who constantly reach for more? Maybe so—and those people, if they exist, will answer for their brand of greed.

But I’m not talking about them.

I’m thinking about the so-called “99%” camped out on Wall Street and across Main Streets, demanding that taxpayers wipe away their student debt and more. I’m thinking about those who live off taxpayer-funded programs and proudly ask, “Why work when the government takes care of me?” These are the greedy I’m referring to. I'm talking about those who default on their mortgages—again—knowing full well that taxpayers will bail them out. These are the folks who clamor for more of what they don’t have, not appreciating what they already do.

So, during this season of thanks, let’s each ask ourselves a few honest questions:

1) Do we have a roof over our heads, food on our table, clothes on our backs? If so, we’re better off than 75% of the people on this planet. So why complain that our house isn’t “enough”? Maybe if we paused and sincerely gave thanks for the shelter we do have, we’d see our whole outlook begin to change. Are we hungry right now? Are our family members? If not, perhaps it’s time to fall to our knees and thank God who watches over us and provides.

Didn’t Christ say that not even a sparrow falls to the ground without Him noticing? And that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed more beautifully than the flowers of the field? If we are clothed and warm—that same God deserves our gratitude.

2) Half of all people on Earth live on less than $2 a day. Think about what you made this week. Today. If it was more than $2, you’re ahead of 50% of the global population. If you’re earning minimum wage here in the U.S., odds are you're in the top 5% of income earners in the world. So if you have a steady job that puts food on the table and keeps you and your family clothed and sheltered—this is a good week to give thanks.

Let’s not forget: that first Thanksgiving in 1621 was a celebration of survival. The Pilgrims and the Native Americans gathered together not to boast, but to give thanks for life itself—for simply not being buried with the others who didn’t make it.

So... how big do our “problems” feel now?

This brings to mind an experience I had recently—something that reminded me of a few important lessons I’d like to share.

It was snowing heavily. I was at a gas station, filling up the tank, shivering in just a shirt. As I turned toward the store, I saw him—a young man on a bicycle. He looked at me, smiled. I smiled back. And I knew—he was about to ask for help.

Sure enough, as he pedaled closer, I reached into my pocket for the money I’d planned to spend inside. He stopped in front of me and began to share his story, but I handed him a $20 bill before he could finish.

“You don’t need to tell me your story…” I said.

But he insisted. “I do need to tell you.”

So I stopped. And listened. I realized that sometimes, part of the gift is the willingness to listen—to really see someone. His story wasn’t new—stranded, car impounded, ID inside, unable to get it out—but he was unique. A child of God. He deserved at least a moment of dignity. I listened. I empathized. I wished him well and went inside.

While paying for gas, I felt a small, quiet prompting: Buy him food too.

“I can do that,” I said to the voice. And it was silent, satisfied.

I returned outside. He was now talking to someone else. I don't know if they helped him too and it did not matter, because I alone, am accountable for my choices and not someone elses'. I asked the young man if he was hungry and he said was, so I invited him into the store with me to buy something to eat. I smelled the hot dogs and they were inviting, so I asked him if he wanted a hot dog. He looked at them with hunger in his eyes, so I told him to go get whatever he wanted and I would buy some drinks. he disappeared over by the hot dog stand and I picked out two liters of Gatorade for him. I paid for the drinks and the cashier called over to the young man to find out what he purchased so I could pay for it all together. I paid the cashier and he walked around the display stand happily eating a hot dog smothered in ketchup.

As we walked outside I handed him the two litres of drink and admonished him to keep well hydrated if he wanted to stay warm in this weather. We stood outside talking for another moment while the other gentleman moved closer to speak with us as well.

My thoughts turned to where he was going to stay for the night. I began to tell him where the homeless shelters were because I figured he could have a warm bed and a meal in the morning if he went there. He explained that he had tried to go to them, but they had turned him away because he did not have his ID (impounded with the car) on him. I was a little 'put out' by the shelter's bureaucracy, but only for a moment as I became more concerned with where he was going to spent the night in a warm place out of this snow storm. At this point, I realized he may really need to get a hotel room, as he had explained.

“How much do you have?” I asked.

“$23. Including the twenty you gave me.”

I knew that wasn’t going to cut it. So I gave him another $20.

“This should be enough for a cheap motel nearby—and maybe some breakfast in the morning.”

He looked at me and said, “Bless you.”

I pointed him to a few places within walking distance. But I had to leave. The storm was intensifying, and I still had a long drive ahead.

As I pulled away, I wondered—should I have stayed longer? Should I have helped more?

A still small voice reassured me: You’ve done enough. He’ll be okay.

So I offered a prayer. I prayed someone else would be there if more help was needed. And I thought about the other man who had walked up. Maybe he would be that next person.

Then I said another prayer. One of deep gratitude. Grateful that my family was home, safe, warm, well-fed. Grateful that I was safe and provided for. Grateful for the law of relativity—and my place in it.

But most of all, I was grateful for the chance to serve someone else.

Even now, I think of that young man and pray he finds his way back to solid ground. I hope what I gave was enough to help him take that next step.

This is the lesson I hope the “greedy” will learn.

Moral: Be grateful for what you have.