Street Signs

I live in a city that has evolved over time. When I moved here, the GPS technology I now rely on was still very new and quite expensive, so I learned to navigate the city the old fashioned way - with a map. Each time I ventured out to find a new location, I would carefully study the map, eventually learning my way around the labyrinth of the city streets. I loved discovering new routes and I especially enjoyed finding unusually named streets. One of my favorite discoveries was Notblake Drive. Why? I once worked for a home builder and when the company was working to develop a new area of the city for housing. One day the developer brought the plat maps into the office which included all the proposed street names. Curious as I read the street names and saw the likes of Jennie Lane and Davis Drive, I asked the developer where the names had come from. He told me they were the names of his grandchildren and informed me that the land developer got to choose the names of the streets. Notblake Drive always makes me laugh and wonder what poor Blake ever did to the developer of that particular neighborhood!

Just recently I discovered a new street name that gave me pause, perhaps because it wasn't the street sign that caught my eye first. There was a short, unpaved dirt road leading to two small houses. They were very humble in construction, in size and amenities. Only one had a small, very well used vehicle parked out front. There was not much to speak of as far as landscaping and there were certainly no boats, four wheelers, or other "toys" parked out front. After seeing the homes, desolate and isolated by worldly standards, I saw the name of the street. Truly Blessed Drive. I wondered about the people who lived in those homes. The buildings looked like they had been there for ages and I wondered if the residents themselves had developed that rudimentary street and been the ones to decide what to name it. I wondered about what was truly important to them. It was fairly obvious that their material possessions didn't create their happiness or their definition of being blessed. I wondered about their families, what they had been through together. I wondered how many times a day they counted their blessings, recognized the beauties that surrounded them, hugged their children, told someone they loved them and helped another person. I was certain that what happened inside those homes was a far greater indicator of their definition of blessed than what was seen on the outside.

I thought about another neighborhood I had seen recently in a coastal resort town, filled with luxurious homes, swimming pools, tennis courts and gated entrances. It had street names like Magnolia Drive and Emerald Parkway and was littered with foreclosure and short sale signs. I wondered if the people who had lived in or purchased those homes, some now shackled with burdensome debt they could no longer carry, felt truly blessed. I wondered if their homes were filled with gratitude and wonder at all the glories and beauties that still surrounded them or if all they could think about was what they were losing.

I wonder if the state of our happiness actually depends upon our willingness to choose our perspective and very little to do with income, zip code, or balance sheets. Perhaps as external economic conditions force us to cut back, downsize or relocate, we can remember what it takes to feel truly blessed. Eyes to see, ears to hear, hands to help, mouths to speak kindness, and perhaps even a well placed street sign.