We have this strange day in November. Right in the middle of the week comes this Holiday every year. So we stop whatever we're doing and scramble to find some family and sit and eat this traditional meal together. And we're giving thanks.
I love it, I really do. It's my favorite meal of the year. But it will never be as good as my mother made it, and I will never be served like I was when I was a child and the house will never feel as full as on that particular day in November.
So I get caught in the remembering and the moving forward. And I cling to the word that is spoken around me.
We all went to church the evening before. I knew of some very grievous hardship with a few families. I gave thanks, but felt none of it. I gave thanks some more and acknowledged that the point was to give thanks.
For far too long I have connected the idea of giving thanks with appreciation.
We are all taught to say thank you from an early age. It's right to say thank you. It's the mark of graciousness and goodness. Somewhere along the line I've misunderstood that I must feel it too.
It has been a very confusing couple of weeks for me. This time of year brings along hard memories. I don't appreciate that. But I am thankful for a day where we stop everything and think about it for a while. It has called my attention to it and asked for a response.
And as my mother said, "Say thank you!"
I say Thank You to God.
Thank you for Tim and Joel and Karin and Matthew. Thank you the we are together and have all that we need. Thank you for new friends. Thank you that we are all healthy. Thank you for work and a house and a town. Thank you.
Now, having said that, I realize I really appreciate it too.