When was the last time you were grateful for your bed?

Over the past few months, I have been reading The Hiding Place, by Corrie ten Boom. For those of you who have read it, you probably know why I started this piece with that specific question. None of us like to imagine living in a concentration camp – or to be more realistic, a work camp that ends up being a death camp. In fact, I am simply horrified as I read Corrie’s descriptions of the camp where she and her sister were imprisoned in Germany, Ravensbruck. So, you might wonder why I am reading it. Well, for me, this sort of story has always been a place for me to find inspiration – and gratitude.

About fifteen years ago, I attended a talk given by a local man who had survived a concentration camp. His stories also horrified me, but his sense of gratitude for the strength he had been given to survive those horrors was overwhelmingly powerful for me. I have spent nearly every single day since then thinking of him during my morning shower routine. You see, he had shared the fact that there was no privacy for showering or bathroom needs; everything was situated in an open room or, worse yet, outside. He also shared that there was never hot water, so even in winter, when the prisoners were blessed with a shower, they nearly froze trying to clean themselves of the grime, bugs, and other bodily unpleasantness they endured from going days without food, water or cleaning. Needless to say, his sweet face of gratitude usually enters my mind when I step in the shower and feel that first gentle spray of warm water each morning. Since then, I have found daily gratitude in the simple things that I had long been taking for granted. I have soap. I have towels. I have a bathroom door that closes. I have toilet paper. I have fresh water, and can adjust the temperature of it to suit me.

While that man’s experience helped me to focus more on gratitude in my life, it wasn’t until I started reading The Hiding Place that my gratitude for my bed became a nightly sacred experience. Instead of sleeping on a flea-infested scrap of straw, I have a comfortable mattress and pillow. Instead of shivering with only my prison dress wrapped around me, I have as many sheets and blankets as I need to keep me warm. Instead of being mashed together on a flea- and lice-infested floor with many other prisoners and never knowing what horrors the night may bring, I share a queen-sized bed with my husband in the safety of our home. Each night as I lay my head down on the pillow and pull the blankets around me, I thank God for the comfort, the safety, the warmth, and the peace that bed brings me. I thank God that I have never been ripped from my home for protecting His children from extermination. I thank God that while there are times it has been difficult to follow His will, I have never been faced with watching my family and friends die around me because of it. If I am still awake at that point, I thank God also for the earplugs that bring me quiet to sleep as my husband snores beside me.

There is something quite liberating about finding gratitude in these simple things. Maybe because when they are ripped from us, they don’t seem so simple. Fresh water. A bathroom door. A bed and blankets.

So, I ask again, when was the last time you were grateful for your bed?