My Complaint

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What do you complain about the most?

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I complain about people who are caught up in themselves — people consumed by their own wants, always receiving, always wanting to know what’s in it for them. It feels self-indulgent, and it makes life harder than it needs to be.

If I’m honest, I think I complain about that because I long for the opposite.

I long for people who go out of their way to help others grow. People who serve. People who make quiet sacrifices that build someone else’s future.

I admire my brother for this. He’s never stopped investing in his children. He’s not a rich man, but when each of his children went off to university, he made plans to help them — especially with accommodation, because a stable base matters. Five children. Same instinct every time. No speeches. No performance. Just a steady commitment: their futures were worth investing in.

And that’s why one particular complaint sits close to the surface for me.

I complain about parents who stop investing once their kids finish high school. I know there are complexities — family dynamics, money pressure, the need for young adults to stand on their own two feet. I’m not naïve about that.

But I still don’t quite get the attitude that says, “I supported you for the first eighteen years. You’re on your own now.”

I complain about it because I long for a different approach — the instinct that keeps turning toward your children. The instinct that sees their future as something precious, not something optional.

So maybe my most common complaint is really a kind of prayer.

Lord, make me the sort of person who gives more than I take.
Make me someone who invests, not extracts.
Keep me attentive to other people’s needs.
And when I’m tempted to reduce others to a category, soften me enough to see the story underneath.