Whats the Deal?

Imagine if you will, the sun just setting, bathing the Wal-mart parking lot with rich hues of orange, red and yellow. The air is fresh and crisp, a product of the early afternoon rain shower. The couple, obviously in love, walk hand in hand, smiling at each other as they make their way toward the entrance. The man looks lovingly at her and says with ever so much feeling, "Sweetheart, I love you so . . . " His words are cut short as she stomps in a mud puddle splashing water up the front of his pants. Still holding her hand, he stops and looks incredulously at her standing there with that impish grin on her face and he begins to stutter, " . . . uh. . uh . . . what's the deal?" My, I mean her, response was not what Ned, I mean he, had anticipated. He had opened up his heart to share his feelings with her, hoping at the very least, for a similar response. Instead he got muddy pants.
We are a such a blessed people, living in a free and wealthy country. We have a community of believers to worship with. We have each other. And we have the greatest blessing of all, redemption from sins. According to James 1, our heavenly Father is the giver of these blessings. Because He loves us He showers us with blessings. It is because of that same love that He was willing to offer the very best of Heaven to bring us to Him.
I have often imagined the crucifixion scene. I imagine watching the Son of God be tortured, beaten and murdered for an angry mob, on behalf of the very one with the scourge in his hands, for the benefit of the same one who just recently spit on the Christ, to save the maker of the thorny crown. What an ungrateful group of people! To stand there and watch the dying Messiah ask God to forgive you as you taunt and ridicule Him, seems outrageous to me. How could one not be moved by that scene? How could one not respond appropriately?
And yet, I often wonder how ungrateful my response for that sacrifice is. Do I live day to day acting as if I alone, am responsible for the things that I have? Do I ridicule and taunt the Giver of the sacrifice when I complain about the blessings? Is it my spittle He feels on His face when I condemn and slander His bride? Are my hands the ones weaving the thorns into a makeshift crown, as I waste my talents on making money, having money, spending money and otherwise entertaining myself? Are my actions like lashes from the whip, scourging the back of my Redeemer?
I am sure that just as the first century did not respond like God would have liked, neither do we. Whether we are so busy with worldly things that we forget to thank God, or whether we have become such habitual complainers that we speak without thinking, the response is still that of an ungrateful and immature lover, stomping in the mud puddle at love's declaration.

Peace
Neva