THE ANTI-YUCK . . .

I can't exactly pinpoint why I've been thinking about this so much lately, but I'm extremely grateful that I did not grow up in a culture of laziness and complaining.

My parents are the two least lazy people I know, and I'm so thankful for it. They weren't psychotic about it; it's not like they were active 24-7-365, running around doing things just for the sake of doing things. But everything that was in their purview to do, they did. Whatever steps they had to take to take care of themselves and keep themselves healthy and sane, they took. Whatever they had to do to fully care for and love Cheech and I, they did. Whatever responsibilities they had to work or church or their friends, they undertook with joy and cheerfulness. Our family had a very full life -- school and work during the weekdays, errands and church on the weekends. Entertaining at home one Saturday night, going out to visit friends another Saturday night. House-cleaning, laundry, cooking, doctor's appointments, car maintenance in between. And the wonder is that my parents did it all without complaining. About anything.

In fact, I can't recall a single instance where I heard my parents complain. When various grandparents passed away and they had to leave immediately to catch planes to the Motherland, it was "don't worry about us, you take care of each other and we'll be back in no time." When the new pharmacy burned down and my parents had to wait three months for it to be restored, it was "well, we haven't had a vacation in 12 years, so we might as well enjoy this time." When the air-conditioning blew out in the middle of summer, and the boiler failed in the middle of winter, it was "well, this is what happens to older homes and this is why repairmen exist." When their church split and they had to worry about the spiritual welfare of their family, it was "God is teaching us something during this time, so let's be patient and obedient." When my dad's favorite car was stolen, it was "I suppose the car's time has come and it's time to buy a new, safer one." When Omma's rheumatoid arthritis started to really flare up, it was "this is what happens with age, and it's a reminder to take care of my body better." When Appa had a cancer scare, it was "God is reminding me that I'm human and that He is in control of my life, not me." And whenever Cheech and I complained about anything -- as spoiled Gen-X and Gen-Y-ers are prone to do -- it was always, "Seriously, think about it: what do you have to complain about?" Never in my house did one hear "I just can't DEAL" or "Omigosh, I'm gonna DIE" or "Why me?"

I still complain a lot. And I still suffer the occasional bout of extreme laziness. But I think I'm far better off than most, thanks to my parents and the kind of home and environment they created for my brother and I. Not a day went by in my house where my parents didn't express a deep appreciation for the life God had given them to live. Not a day went by where Cheech and I weren't reminded of the importance of helping people, being a useful and productive hand, working well as part of a team, and at the very least, fulfilling our personal responsibilities 100%, without cutting corners. Not a day went by where we were allowed to be selfish or self-absorbed, thinking that the world revolved around us or worse, that the world owed US something.

I'm really thankful that these are the lessons that are ingrained in me, as flawed as my living them out might be. I used to feel odd about who I was, thinking that I suffered from severe Martha-syndrome (working bitterly in the kitchen while Mary got to sit at Jesus's feet and listen), and that I had to rid myself of this quality. But now I'm starting to see the difference between bitterness slavishness and joyful service. I really appreciate that my parents taught me to work, for my own benefit and for the benefit of those around me. I really appreciate that because of my parents, I value stepping outside the boundaries of just what I need to do for myself, and lending an extra effort to help someone else, even in the very tiny and seemingly insignificant things. I appreciate that I am someone who can see beyond myself, not because I'm a doormat and don't fulfill my own needs, but because I've been taught that after I'm taken care of, it's nice to make sure others are too. And I really appreciate that I have the ability to keep on learning how to keep my mouth shut. Complaining, bemoaning one's own circumstances, throwing out phrases like "I just can't deal" or "Omigosh, I'm just going to DIE," are just so unhelpful, and I simply want to be helpful, as much as I can. I want to encourage people with my words, not discourage. I want people to know that I care and think about them, not just about myself. And I certainly don't want to be someone who throws words out carelessly, without thinking, and definitely without meaning them.

Thanks, Omma and Appa. With all the yuck that is in this world and in the people in this world, and for sure in me, I'm glad that I also have in me a little of what it takes to start to combat the yuck.