Need To Be Thankful

This afternoon I was touching up my painting job I did in the dining room when the phone rang. My elderly neighbor Fran called to ask if I heard about the tornados. I didn't have the tv on so told her I would call her back. The tornados were in areas 2 hours west of us and heading north so I called her back and told her that we were safe and not to worry. She ask if they do come here are you coming over? I will keep watching Fran and if they say we might even have a small chance of tornado I will come over. Going back to my painting the phone rings again in a few minutes..... Fran again.... can you just come over and visit for a while? I have coke to drink but nothing stronger. (LOL) I told her to give me a few minutes and I would come over and sit with her. Hanging up the phone to clean up my brushes I was muttering to myself about having to stop what I was doing and go sit when I could be getting things done that I wanted done. I go to Frans and we sit and watch the news. They are showing people that no longer have a home. A man that watched his wife disappear while he held onto their children when the flooding broke their house apart. They had been on the roof all night. The news reporter talked about there not being any drinking water, no electricity, no dry shelters and food shortage. They weren't even trying to collect the dead because they were still trying to rescue people trapped in their homes or stranded. All of a sudden my going to sit with my neighbor didn't seem such a big deal after all. Here is a poem by William Cullen Bryant that I read when I came back home tonight after I had said a prayer.

Comfort

The power who pities man has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.
The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that overflow with tears;
And weary hours of woe and pain
Are promises of happier years.
There is a day of sunny rest
For every dark and troubled night;
And grief may bide on evening quest,
But joy shall come with early light.
For God hath marked each sorrowing day,
And numbered every secret tear,
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all his children suffer here.