For more than thirty years, I've had the privilege of providing counseling to people, pastoring, teaching, and interacting with individuals in every conceivable life situation. I've repeatedly observed that the "gratitude quotient" present (or absent) in an individual shapes their journey immeasurably. If we realized the wonderfully significant difference it makes to look at life from a consistently grateful perspective, I am convinced more people would be intentional about "counting their blessings."

But I'm not encouraging the cultivation of gratitude just for pragmatic reasons, not merely because you might benefit from it (though I know you will). I'm saying that we need to express gratitude to God, our Maker, because it is the right thing to do. There is a certain satisfaction in the soul when we know we're doing the right things. And it is good to be grateful.    

So, let me say it: Each day we're alive is a gift. 

I'll bet your grandmother told you that. Maybe you read it off a refrigerator magnet, or you were told it in childhood Sunday school. But these are profound truths worth ruminating on and reminding ourselves of, often:  Life is a gift, and every day is a blessing.

Gratitude about life can morph your outlook on this day from the mundane to the miraculous. Life is such a precious gift!  

A minister's occupational realities: Frequent reminders to be grateful

Serving the Lord and people as they experience life reminds me to be grateful for the blessings of each day, and just for another day itself.

"I'd give anything to have a little more time with him," an adult woman cried, upon hearing the news that her father had passed. "One last conversation — about anything . . ." she pined.

We've all felt the loss of a loved one's death. Processing such finality — knowing there'll be no more chances to say things we wished we had said — never comes easily. We realize, often too late, that time together really was a gift.

I remember my most painful moment ever as a minister. It was past midnight, and my wife and I were sitting with a young husband in an ER waiting room. His wife and four-year-old daughter had been in a terrible car wreck. Both had been in surgery for hours and waiting to hear the outcome of the surgeries was agonizing.

"They're going to be OK," the man repeated. "I just feel it in my heart. They'll come out of this — they will!"  Ordinarily, an upbeat mood like this might have encouraged me. But the man's eyes and expression told me that the trauma of all this had taken him to a place detached from reality. He rocked back and forth, almost in a trance.  

We were finishing up a prayer around 1:30 a.m., and I could see several doctors outside the waiting room door.  One motioned for me, and as I walked into the hall the surgeon gently shook his head — "No," he whispered.  "Stay with me as I talk with the father," he instructed.

With pleading eyes the man looked to the doctors. As the crushing news of a toddler's death was delivered, literally all color drained from the face of that young dad. It was surreal — as this muscular working man slumped downward, sobbing, he seemed to age a decade before hitting the floor.  

I'll never forget the sight of this man, face down in a puddle of tears. The weeping at times moved his body like a seizure; clutched to his side was a smiling rag doll that hours before had been hugged and loved by his little girl . . . now deceased. I was numbed by the incongruity of it all.  

His eyes were tightly shut for the longest time. I'm sure he didn't want to open them because when he did, those eyes would look upon a world he would never have imagined.

Such experiences make you grateful for life.               

Think of this: The ability to be 'up and about' today — to be ambulatory — is a privilege many wish they could experience one more time. If you've ever seen a nurse change a patient's ostomy bag, you'll be thankful for your bladder and colon. And you'll be silently praying to God Almighty that the plumbing within your abdomen never fails.

If, after waking up this morning, you were able to bathe, dress yourself, eat something, and leave the house of your own accord, your day has already included activities that many only experience as wistful memories.  

Philosophers say that existence is the most important characteristic, or property, something could possess. They call it ontology, or "being." Anselm of Canterbury taught that it is better to exist in reality than in the mind only.  

That's a lot to think about, but let's turn it around this way: Before your loved ones exist only as memories, take time to cherish them as the living realities that they now are.  

Life is a gift. There is great fulfillment in savoring each day, thankfully, while we can.       

Dr. Alex McFarland is an apologetics evangelist who has spoken in hundreds of locations throughout the U.S. and internationally. He is heard live on "Exploring the Word," airing daily on 200+ radio stations across the country. "The Alex McFarland Show" airs weekly on NRBTV, providing Biblically faithful TV and discussion on current events affecting our nation. His newest book, "100 Bible Questions and Answers on Prophecy and the End Times," is available now.