Awake in bed alone in the early morning hours my mind wanders.

I realized a return to sleep was out of the question by then when I found myself compiling a mental list of regrets. Very poor use of time and an otherwise mentally healthy disposition I know, but I live on the edge occasionally and allowed it to continue a lot longer than I should have.

I wish I’d served in the Navy right out of high school when it was first offered me. I wish I’d gone into insurance or real estate early on and I’d be rich and retired by now. I wish I’d have beaten the hell out of Tony Franciosa when he called me out in 6th grade. I’d like to have been able to grow more than 12 hairs on my chest by now… And the list went on seemingly reciting itself for about 20 minutes. I don’t recommend it. Very few other morning mental gymnastics can ruin a day you haven’t even started yet.

The list kept growing as if it had lied dormant just under my skin much too long and I’d scratched exactly the spot it had been hiding. It was way more easy than it should have been.

Turned on the light, kissed my dog, and came to my senses. Said a brief prayer and laughed a little at myself for the waste of time and brain cells.

I’m fine. No damage done. The list of regrets dissipated with each sip of coffee, but the lesson that remained is how readily we can live in those regrets, should-haves and unrealized wishes with such ease, but can’t just as easily turn the tables and be thankful and happy with where we’ve landed in life so far.

By then I was here at the computer typing into a new Word document every fortuitous blessing, turns of events that once saved my life, and motives for living that usually accompany my first step to the floor out of bed each morning. I reminded myself I’m a positive guy, very slow to anger, and mentally astute as my list began filling the second page of the document which became my second prayer of thanks this morning.

Happy Saturday.

I hadn’t considered myself among “the least of these” until starting over at 51 as an ex-felon working a $9/hour church janitor job apparently exceeded the qualifications.

But the surprise of a fifty dollar bill tucked in my back pocket by a passing stranger at Christmastime was eclipsed only by the words accompanying the gesture. “You’re making more of a difference than you know, young man.”

I’m not sure if I was more shocked being addressed as a young man or by the unexpected generosity of his acknowledgement of a stranger working a lowly invisible job during the busiest time of the church calendar. I’d just returned from plunging a TeenTime toilet full of poop and was en route across the courtyard to a hazardous cleanup in KidKare made by two siblings who’d had bad blueberries and Alpha Bits for breakfast.

I’d like to report our encounter was an interaction but his swift disappearance into the festive crowd of evening Christmas servicers was as angelic as his act of kindness. By the time I put my mop and pail to the ground and wiped my hand on my shirt to shake his hand, he was gone. I reached into my back pocket to find the gift he’d bestowed and while $50 was a helpful blessing this time of year, his words had been of much greater value.

Invisible people are all around us. Janitors, cashiers, clerks and other such name tags we rarely if ever read or better yet, take notice. Doing so need not cost 50 dollars or 50 cents, but only to know the words to their song on a not so silent night that hoped someone might care enough to notice and at the very least, tell them that in this world, they’re making more of a difference than they know.

The truth is, you get used to it.

Over time, living single and alone eventually grows on you. You chew your food longer for lack of dinner conversation, sleep more soundly without a chatty someone stealing the covers, cuddling, or wanting something more. You save money on silly flowers or something special for no one special for no special reason, and you learn to be self-sufficient when sick, make your own soup and get your own toilet paper. You no longer worry about dying alone, just dying, and gradually forget the memory of a mind-blowing kiss, hug or the unexpected touch of a caring hand. Truth is you get used to it because it grows on you as an annihilation of everything that might have been, drawing the devoted heart, mind and soul closer to all the good things in this world and in your life that actually are.