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28 Jul 2008
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I will not complain, that is the most profound sentence I have heard on the first day of my new job in Singapore.
I will not complain.
The thing is, how many of us can really not complain? For sure, there are things to complain everyday. For sure, there are things that did not go well. For sure, someone will annoy you. For sure, sometimes you’ll find yourself complaining about yourself!
The key is not what happens to us. It’s not about circumstances. What happens to us, happens to everyone. A bad day. Arguments with spouse. Bad service from restaurant. Car broke down. Flight delay. Death of loved one.
The key is our response to what happens to us. I always talk about gratefulness. To me, gratefulness is the best recipes to a happy and fulfilling life!
The most touching story of gratefulness that I had ever read, I will share it with you today, let us not complain about how imperfect we are, how imperfect other people are, or how imperfect our life is from today onwards.
From Mr. R.M. Good- Adapted from Dare to Fail by Billi Lim
Each man weighs his gifts from God on a different scale…
GOD HAS BEEN GOOD TO ME
For 25 years I saw him fight cancer of the face. First, just a small speck that began to grow larger, then, year after year, I watched him go to the hospital and had a bit more cut out each time. As the years went by, his face was hardly a face at all as more and more was cut away. But always when he returned, with what was left of his face, he tried to smile and never once uttered a complaint or seemed to be downhearted.
He was a skilled mechanic and finished carpenter, recognized as the best in all the surroundings Ozark hills.
When he did a job he seemed to stand back and survey it to see whether there was anything left out that could be added to make it as nearly perfect as possible. Then he would see some little place that the average person would pass up and he would be busy touching up this and that. Then, when he had done his best again, he would look it over and a smile of contentment would come over his face.
I suspect he often said to himself,” My work will be my face and my life.” I doubt if he often looked at the mirror and noticed that damaged face where each day the cancer bit a mite deeper.
No matter how humble the place he worked in, or how small the job, or how crude the others worked around and about, it never seemed to bother him at all. This was his work, and it had to be done right. He appeared never to give a glance at the work of others; a shoddy job done by someone else was not his concern. His own work seemed to be all that mattered. Nevertheless, I suspect when the job was done he had an inner sense of pride and joy when he saw how outstanding it was but never once I heard him boast about it.
As the years went by, he became weaker and weaker, his step was less sure, and his hands did not move with the confidence and speed that had so characterized him. He was unable to do many things he had done before. However, no matter what the work or pay, he always had an insatiable desire to do a good job.
The help he was able to get was not able to catch his vision; they thought he was cranky to try so hard to complete each and every detail. So more and more he worked alone. He did not complain or bitterly rail at the inefficiency of the other fellow. He would just appear next morning by himself with no explanation on the absence of his helper.
During the latter days when he had only the shambles of a face, he would wrap it up in a red bandana handkerchief, leaving only his eyes showing.
When you met him on the street, there was always a cheery greeting. As time went on and he found it more and more difficult to say the words, often his greeting would be given with a move of his walking stick. This stick too, was a thing of beauty, carved out by his skillful hands.
His life seemed to be full with contentment and peace. I am sure many times he thanked God for those hands and for the fact that they were marred in no way.
He often would be missed about his usual haunts for weeks, or perhaps months, as he would make his journey to the hospital for the surgeon to cut away a little more. Then, you would see him again- a bit more gruesome. There would be no complaint, no telling of his operation and the pain. He would just quietly go about the work that was always awaiting his return.
In all of this quarter of century, I never knew him to come back with any complaints or mention in any way about the pain. You would think there is nothing the matter if you did not see his face.
When his days of labour seemed to be coming to an end, his chief concern was that his tools might be in good hands. He sent for me one day and told me that he wished I would find for him some young man who would appreciate and properly use them.
When I took a young man to see him about the tools, there came over his face a look of contentment and satisfaction. His work was finished and he was ready to cash in.
A few days before he died I went to see him. He was walking in the yard. His face was nearly completely covered with bandages and only his eyes were uncovered. As he hobbled about the yard, he said to me,” I am going to keep young just as long as I can.”
The day he died I went to see him again. The odour in the room was so offensive you could hardly stay there. What was left of his face was a mass of scars and there was really no longer anything to cut away. You could tell he was in great pain and had many sleepless nights. But still there was no word of complaint.
I shall never forget his last words. Ever afterwards, they have made me ashamed whenever I’m inclined to complain. Still, day after day, they are vivid in my memory.
The words were;” God has been awfully good to me. I have never had any reason to complain.”
(from Mr. R.M. Good)- Dare to Fail by Billi Lim
