Thanksgiving
Hundreds of years ago some pilgrims sat down and shared a feast with the natives that had shown them kindness. The pilgrims had had trouble adapting to the new world that they found themselves in and the natives “adopted” these newcomers and taught them the ways of the land.
It’s really amazing to think of what actually happened in this story. Strangers from the other side of the world showed up, expecting to find a new life, the promise of a fresh start, and instead found their adventure turning into the worst case scenario. Starvation, a harsh winter, sickness; all of the odds were stacked against these sojourners.
On the other side of the story, you find the natives: people living peaceably, raising their families, living off of the land in a way that had probably not changed much over the course of numerous generations.
Without warning, an enormous wooden contraption is seen at the shore, and there are people walking out of it, unusual people; people that dress differently, look strange and speak a language that you don’t understand.
I try to think of what would happen if this were to occur today. Some how, in this age of “tolerance,” I have trouble imagining that the natives would have been friendly to the pilgrims, or that the pilgrims would have been coming with pure ideals. I think both sides would have been suspicious of each other. We tend to be fearful of people that are different, especially when they invade our secured environment, disrupting our way of life.
And that’s the miracle of Thanksgiving: that people of absolutely different thinking, different experience, different cultures and races, could learn to survive together and be so grateful for their friendship that they would share a feast.
As I have celebrated this year’s Thanksgiving I have thought about the many changes that my life has come through in the last two years. It has been a turbulent time at best, and most certainly a time that has caused me to rethink the most important things in life. I am amazed at the depth to which life’s cycles metamorphous into new seasons, and that through these cycles we somehow learn to survive.
I live in a new town now, my desert home of twenty three years is just a place that I visit from time to time, the business that I spent five years helping build has fallen to bankruptcy, I’m not currently active in any sort of “ministry” capacity (something that has been a big part of my existence for the last ten years), and I’m getting ready to start school all over again.
I sat next to my Grandma June at Thanksgiving dinner. This amazing woman helped raise me. She is someone that I always depended on; she took me to school, made my meals, watched over me when I was young, now, she lives in an assisted living home and often can’t remember what town she lives in, who her relatives are, or many of the basic details of life. She has trouble walking. I had to help her to the table, I had to buckle her seat belt in the car, and I had to prepare her plate for her for dinner. It was an absolute reversal. I was glad to help her and always will be, but it still made me sad.
In some ways, I feel like those pilgrims: in a new place and trying desperately to regain my footing. So, like those pilgrims, I want to give thanks…
I am thankful for memories, for times that were simple, times when life made sense.
I am thankful for friends and family that bring serenity to the crashing waves of life.
I am thankful for the beauty of a foggy morning in Santa Maria.
I am thankful for the laughter of my nephews and nieces.
I am thankful for the memory of countless sunsets in Apple Valley.
I am thankful for the day’s tasks.
I am thankful for my father’s patience.
I am thankful for my mother’s perseverance.
I am thankful for my grandmother’s constant giving of herself.
I am thankful for new opportunities.
I am thankful for the third option and for the God who lovingly opens doors when we feel imprisoned by life’s challenges.
I am thankful for grace that is my very sustenance.
I am thankful, so very thankful.
