March 9, 2026
First world problems. We’re swimming in them, aren’t we? Most of the time, we don’t even give ‘em a second thought. Here’s a classic “Jason” example: I’m standing in my kitchen, staring at 100 pounds of meat in the deep freeze, lamenting that there is absolutely nothing to eat for lunch.
So, naturally, I head to the bar and grill for a “sammich.” But it doesn’t stop there. Oh, no. Even a perfectly good Reuben isn’t enough for the King of Comfrey. I’ve gotta look that poor cook in the eye and say, “Pardon me, Mr. Chef, but could you add bacon and sautéed onions? I’d like to upgrade this Reuben to a Roman.” (There’s a story behind that one for another day…)
Please, lay the sarcasm on thick here—thick as a Brooklyn accent. I could type a single-spaced list as high as the Foshay Tower in Minneapolis detailing all the “problems” our limitless choices create for us every day. But before we get too deep into my culinary demands, I need to give you some contrast.
Back in my seminary days, I read an article that I’ve never been able to shake. It was about a congregation in Africa where poverty wasn’t just a word; it was the scenery. There was a woman in that church who walked three miles each way to worship, completely barefoot. She didn’t own a single pair of shoes.
One day, while walking that dusty road, she spotted something lying in the dirt: a solitary, discarded high-heel shoe. Not a pair. Just one.
She didn’t lament the missing left foot. She picked up that one shoe, ran the rest of the way to church, and busted out in a roar of praise. She told everyone who would listen that God had answered her prayers and sent her a shoe. The Psalmist must have been foreshadowing our sister when he wrote:
“I will give to the Lord the thanks due to his righteousness, and I will sing praise to the name of the Lord, the Most High.”
One shoe. She was eternally grateful for half a pair. Meanwhile, I’m standing in my closet having an existential crisis: Do I wear the grey Vans or the green ones? The leather dress shoes or the Ariat work boots? My well-worn Brooks “running” shoes (term used loosely) or my nasty, muddy, dog-poop-covered yard shoes?
She praised God up and down for a shoe. I have a dozen.
That, my friends, is the definition of a first-world problem. I bring this up because today I caught myself—and a few others—fussing and carryon on about the doors at the church. Which ones to lock? Which ones to leave open? Blah, blah, blah. Honestly? It made my soul want to puke. (A bit gross, I know, but I’m being my authentic self here. I’m Just Jason, after all.)
Today, I’m thankful for the “problems” I’m surrounded with. Because honestly, I don’t know if I’d have the humility or the heart of that sister in Africa. She knows more about grace than most of us ever will. I’m thankful for every good gift, whether it’s the choice of shoes on my feet, the bacon on my sandwich, or even the privilege of deciding which door to lock at the House of the Lord.
What first-world problems are you thankful for today?