Like a groundhog in a garden, the little boy was digging holes in the yard again. He was an adventurous one, always needing something to keep him busy. In the streets of a small town in Belarus, there was not much to do for kids, except to utilize their imaginations. He chose to spend the warm day playing outside in the garden, making use of the elements on hand. His current toys: the potato and shovel. His obstacle: the garden. But soon this boy’s world would change, and he would not be playing with potatoes and digging pits in the garden anymore.

His cousins were moving to America. The borders opened and the Slavic people felt the tinge of something they had not experienced before: freedom. The country had successively become less dictatorial over the decades, but with a history like that, and an opportunity like this, many were not willing to pass it up. So his family chose to leave for a better life.

As he was giving away the few toys he had, his friends were asking him what was going on. “Where I’m going, they will have more toys,” he replied.

The plane ride was a curious and novel experience for him. As for any kid, the window captivated his attention when he wasn’t sleeping. It amazed him how small everyone looked when you got that far off the ground—all those people who usually tower over him were like little ants now. Then a sound startled him. The loudspeakers went off and a voice announced something, but he could not understand. Suddenly, he felt as if he was dropping. Panic struck him. “Are we falling!?”—he cried out to his mom. She explained to him that the plane was just landing and soon they would be back on the ground. He had never even been on a rollercoaster. The closest to this strange feeling he had ever experienced was his memories of sledding down hills back home in the winter. “THUD!” His stomach lurched up in his body as they landed. He was happy to sense the familiar feeling of gravity again.

As he looked around, he realized they were here ... in America! Excitement filled him as he dreamed about all the new toys he’d soon have and the many flavors of ice cream besides vanilla he could try. As they made their way through New York to Ellis Island to get their check up and final paperwork done, he analyzed the city scape with awe. It never occurred to this young boy that buildings this massive could stand without toppling over.

As his adventures in America grew in number, one of the very first was visiting a department store in Philadelphia. This may seem mundane to most of us, but to him it was the equivalent of Candyland becoming a reality. Never had he seen architecture of such massive proportions and windows of this span. Each of the three levels sold more abundance than he had ever seen in one place before. Standing center place in the store, he noticed strange metallic machines that looked like never-ending moving ladders that would carry people up and down. He was weary of them at first, but he took a big careful step following beside his mother and off they rode to the top floor which he was most excited about—the toy floor.

As they travelled upward, vivid colors burst forth; shapes and sizes, creatures and characters of all types filled his frame of view. Immediately after landing, he darted over, eyes and mouth wide open, gawking at the coolest thing he had ever seen—it was THE Optimus Prime he had heard so much about. Finally able to peel his eyes off the transformer, he noticed the many other toys and ran over to inspect them all.

He would often visit the library and check out the same book about film production, something that fascinated him. It was a meager business back home. He would spend hours there reading, looking over bright pictures and getting to know his new world. The libraries in his homeland had nowhere near the assortment of books America had.

Flea markets became another favorite of his. Cheap trinkets and Legos were all the rave in the 90s and there he was able to amass quite a collection and share it with other children. He spent his free time outside of school playing outdoors with his cousins and friends. Long gone were my brother’s days of playing with potatoes and digging holes in our mother’s garden.

Although he was happy and grateful for what he had in his homeland, he learned to be even more grateful coming to America. He cherished whatever gift he received, never forgetting how little he used to have.

I was blessed to grow up in the U.S., so I do not know what that was like, but he often shared his story with me when I was a little girl. Seeing the world through his eyes and imagining what it could be like coming out of an isolated country to a world of prosperity and wonder fills me with gratitude for all the blessings I have, even the small things. I was never forced to play with potatoes out of want of more toys, but he was, and he still found a way to make it fun. I remind myself of the awe he must have felt when he stepped into the toy section of that department store; it makes me think about what I do have in a new light, as if I were him seeing it all for the first time.

In the April 1962 Plain Truth, Herbert W. Armstrong observed, “Certainly a lack of gratitude is one of the most prevalent, if not the most terrible, of sins. Few have learned to really appreciate what they have. Most are prone to accept the good things by taking them for granted, failing to give thanks. We gripe about our complaints more than we count our blessings” (Plain Truth, April 1962).

Next time you wish you had more, just imagine having fun in a garden with only potatoes and a shovel and then look at all you have with fresh eyes. How much more grateful can we be? Do we count our blessings enough? Do we use our imaginations enough? That boy in the garden was content with what he had even though it was little. His story reminds me that the small things in life can be wonderful if you have the eyes and the imagination to appreciate it.