On Complaining

 
We're mostly a bunch of complainers;
Too often we're not satisfied
With the state of the weather, in general,
Or the passage of time, or the tide.
For if it isn't too hot, why then it's too cold;
It's either too wet or too dry;
Time's going too fast or it's going too slow;
The water's too low or too high.
The music's too loud or else it's too soft;
The singer can't carry a tune;
The preacher's long-winded or his sermon's too short;
It's either too late or too soon.
There's either too much or there's not enough,
Whether it's snow, food, coffee, or tea;
The pillow's too hard or else it's too soft;
Nothing's ever as good as can be.
Yes, to most of us nothing is perfect:
We can always find room for complaint,
But if someone points out our shortcomings,
We can answer right up, "I'm no saint!"
But that's what you are, my dear brother,
If the blood of God's Son you have claimed —
A saint who will one day be perfect,
With nothing wherewith to be blamed.
So why complain now, brother, sister,
About everything under the sun?
Thank God for each day you are given
And live it for Jesus, the Son.
Give thanks for each situation!
Praise God for the good and the bad,
For Jesus Christ died to save you. —
He's the dearest Friend you ever had.
Don't complain about things and don't grumble.
It's advice that I need to take, too,
For God's perfect Son shed His precious blood
That we might be perfected all through.
And someday He'll make all things perfect,
And no one will ever complain
About things over yonder in glory
Where with Him forever we'll reign.

    a. franklin staples
June 26, 1990

                 Copyright © 1990
    by
    A. Franklin Staples