Thanksgiving is what I ought to do every day, every moment if I stop to ponder what a wondrous story I live in, what abundance I’ve been given. And by abundance I don’t mean bank accounts and too many pairs of shoes and a loving family. I mean life and all of its heartache and joy, burden and song, crumbs and crossiants. A life that bubbles over with the wine of gladness but also tastes the bitter cup of suffering. A life that keeps on giving and never runs out. Ever.

Giving and given, a feast forever.

Thanksgiving, a day of feasting, is a day for full tables, and I don’t just mean what goes on it. A once-a-week, once-a-year, once-in-a-while, “let’s come together to say ‘Thank you, LORD.'”

Because saying thank you with others is a special thing. Thankful for you, and with you, because you’ve been where I’ve been. Stood beside the grave while I was crying. I held your baby on the sofa and heard her sleepy sighing. You lent me your crockpot, served me “hope you feel better” soup from your stockpot. We danced in the rain, got mud between our toes, and found a tickle of laughter in the midst of daily woes. We traded recipes and shirts, you held my hand and prayed. I listened while you told me your hurts. We built bonfires and changed car tires. You brought me eggs from your chickens. I helped clean your kitchen. And everybody knows the kitchen is the heart of the home. Nobody goes it alone. So we all come to gather and feast. For a day. At least.

“A community is made strong by mutual sharing, helping, and easing one another’s burdens. Praying for one another. Serving one another. Working together.“

(And singing and feasting, too!)

Buried in the junk drawer was a note to self from four years ago. A challenge to my “DIY” all by myself attitude. Me, not willing to ask for help. Because I didn’t want to admit I needed it, didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t think anyone would want to lend a hand or advice or whatever I needed and they had.

I was young; maybe I thought I didn’t have anything to offer, so I shouldn’t ask. Didn’t realize that asking for help is an offering. Offering an opportunity to grow closer, to show love.

“In refusing to ask for help you deny others the opportunity to serve you. Over time, they might feel less inclined to seek your help. You’re not burdening others by asking for assistance. You are helping to keep the community alive.“

Feeding your people is also a good way to keep the gang alive. 😉 So here’s to Thanksgiving!

Ordinary Moments in a Library Corner and Unloading the Truck
Plumbing the meaning of “I love you,” spoken,
And when we say thanks for the little things you do and compliment your smile,
Does that mean “I love you” too?
Just for you?
If you hold a mirror to my words,
Is the image true?
Do I say the same with what I do?

And can I say it if I still have room to grow?
My desire to be given, does it show?
Because, I just want you to know…

Yes, I love you.

—

An extravagant thing, saying I love you. Because Love is bigger and higher and greater than words can measure, but not for hearts to hold. To truly love, that is all–that is bold.

So I’ll aim to treat “I love you” like the good dishes. On purpose. Only habit when every day is joyful feast.

Which brings me to the pizza crusts, a philosophy in passing. Courtesy of a text message, October 8th.

“Ok, then I’ll feed you the less-than-stellar pizza crusts. 😉 Only because I love you, truly. I always want to give you the best, but better is to give you honestly. And baking can be pretty awkward sometimes. :)”