Countless: (adj) too numerous to count; innumerable
I often get very confused over the hunters, gatherers and nesters—who is who and what is what, and certainly, why is why. Perhaps there isn’t a category for everything.
When I was a child, I remember that we sang a hymn in church called “Count Your Blessings.” According to the tune, we were supposed to name them, one by one.
I found it fascinating.
God, who is a Spirit—who doesn’t possess physical objects as a symbol of His worth, wants us to sit around and tally what we’ve accumulated to prove that He gives a damn. Really?
Somewhere along the line, we’ve traded in the meaning of life for a comfortable explanation which can offered at a party.
This is the power of the word “countless.” Even though it tips its hat—or in this case, front—to the word “count,” it quickly warns us that trying to assess our value, the esteem of others, the purpose of the Universe or the favor of God by numbering our blessings, is not only fruitless, but smacks of pernicious arrogance.
I remember sitting on the side of the road with a flat tire, and turning to my friends and saying, “What a beautiful day it is to be stopped.”
The reaction, though not verbal, was a combination of unnecessary admiration for my optimism and aggravation over the same.
I wasn’t trying to be coy. Nor was I attempting to be clever and positive.
What I was trying to communicate was that no matter what happens to us, the true blessing of life, which is the ability to breathe, choose and function, cannot be counted.
It is countless.