Thanksgiving competes for my favorite day of the year. It is a sensational climax. Every year when I was little, I would wake up to spiced and sweet smells wafting from the kitchen and the buttery croons of Nat King Cole or one of the other Christmastime greats gently serenading my mom as she'd be pinching pie crusts. I don't wonder why I'm so sentimental.
A while ago, with kids having kids and friends becoming family, Thanksgiving at my parents house started to burst at the seems. We were past adding chairs to tables - we had to add tables to rooms. This is when it started to get really good. We'd all pray, eat the meal together and sip wine until we all brimmed over with goodness. And just when we couldn't take any more in, we'd all get quiet, and start to let the gratitude spill out. There from our chairs we'd go around and each one, from the mashed potato covered little ones to grandmas and grandpas, would say the thing we'd been most thankful for that year.
The things would range from homes bought and sold to babies born to pumpkin pie. But last year was an especially good year for thanksgivings. It was a happy heart - that my mom was over half way through her chemotherapy and seemingly reborn into joy, it was my much prayed for and finally achieved pregnancy. It was my people: my little wide-eyed Edy Clare and my best friend and super man husband who cares for me so I can care for her. Oh, a full and happy heart.
And this year I'm all filled up with thanksgivings again. A just-right-for-us home to call our little corner of the world, a furnace that (mostly) works, siblings we call friends, a church community that pushes us to Jesus, a country where we can be free to pursue Truth ardently. For my Edith Clare. For my husband.
So, you can bet that I'll be in my kitchen with Nat King Cole tomorrow, spreading all that sensational, magical Thanksgiving Day gratitude around my home, just like my mom did.
Happy Thanksgiving to you. May your hearts and stomachs be full!