Latest update: July 9th, 2012
Dear Readers: Everywhere you turn, it seems that people are beset with so many problems and worries; some are financial in nature, some revolve around social issues like shidduchim and marriage, some involve setbacks and losses, and the non-actualization of the vision we had of how the days of our lives would play out.
When people are focused on what is going wrong in their life, without balancing the bad with awareness of what is right, then they become susceptible to feelings of depression, anger or even hopelessness. To offset this negativity, which can undermine your well-being, it is important to take a moment to appreciate what is good in your life.
The following is the last of my summer poem series.
Modeh Ani – A Prayer of Thanks
The tired young father,
Shakes his head in dismay,
He has so many expenses,
They seem to increase day by day.
He is consumed by the fear
Of how on he will be able,
To pay the myriad of bills
Overflowing on the table.
He looks up and sees a photo,
Of his baby and his wife,
“Modeh Ani,” he whispers,
For my wonderful life.
The frail old lady,
Has been worn down by her years,
Her face is creased and lined
By long ago tears.
She has suffered much loss,
And is no stranger to pain,
Out of reach are cherished goals
That she will never attain.
Yet she lives on her own,
And is clean and well fed,
“Modeh Ani,” she utters,
That I can get out of bed.
The mother got up early,
Before the clock struck seven.
Sixteen hours later, she’s still up
Though it’s way past eleven.
The chores are never-ending,
There are dishes still in the sink,
The baby is teething,
Her toddler woke up and wants a drink.
She then hears her teenage son,
As he opens the door with his key,
All her children are now home,
She whispers, “Modeh Ani.”
Her oldest is getting married,
An erliche boy, but not her first choice,
She thought her daughter could do better,
She’s not sure she should rejoice.
Suddenly a surge of overwhelming emotion
Suffuses the mother of the kallah,
As her Holocaust survivor parents,
Walk to their grandchild’s chuppah,
Through so much mesiras nefesh,
They rebuilt the family tree,
On the lips of the baalat simcha,
A fervent “Modeh Ani.”
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