I’m not a big fan of complaining. I used to wait tables with an older gal who was an incessant complainer. Nothing, evidently, worked well in her life. I dreaded working with her because she put such a damper on the environment, while I tried my best to make the most of my situation.
We worked at a restaurant located right on the water of the Pacific Ocean. It was a spectacular view of boats, birds, gondolas, and expensive homes. We made great money and working on the patio was a highlight. There wasn’t much to complain about in fact the toasty rolls we served to the customers we delicious, especially when dipped into a fresh bowl of clam chowder.
She was single, aging, living alone, waiting tables, lost, without God, frustrated, watching her friends marry and bear children, and miserable. To this day she is still waiting tables, single, lonely, and without the Lord. To me she never made any effort to improve her situation and instead had a steady flow of complaints ready to unload.
I have my fair share of complaints. Because I am a mother of four children, it is my job to complain every now and again. However, I also make a point to count my blessings. At my worst moments, God places situations in front of me which cause me to be thankful, people who are worse off, struggling more, or experiencing health problems. I hope that people don’t refer to me as a complainer—I have so much.