A Thanksgiving Fire: When you walk through fire

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.

—Isaiah 43:2

I was home from college to celebrate Thanksgiving. After a full day with family and a full stomach to boot, it was time for bed. Before we climbed the stairs, Dad put a few more logs on the wood stove. My sister, Mary, heard him talking with Mom. They seemed concerned that the stove was hotter than usual. When Mary reached her bedroom, she felt heat radiating from the wall behind her headboard, which butted up to the interior chimney. She extended her hand and placed it on the wall. It was warm. Now she too was concerned. She set her alarm to go off in a few hours so she could check on it.

Handprints of Love: Adding to the family

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

—John 3:16

My family started a new Thanksgiving tradition last year. After dinner each of us used a Sharpie to write what we were thankful for on the tablecloth. My daughter-in-law Tara traced her hand to create a turkey, then others followed suit. This past Thanksgiving we used the same tablecloth but decided to paint our handprints instead. Adults applied paint to children’s hands, then pressed them firmly to the cloth. Afterwards, they quickly rushed them to the bathroom to wash off. Tara and Rebekah painted their spouses hands too.

I left the tablecloth to dry on a rarely used table. That same weekend I happened upon some 30 year-old Mother’s Day artwork that included the handprints of my son Tim. What are the odds of that?

I placed the artwork next to Tim’s handprint on the tablecloth and marveled at the picture of growth. My mind traveled back 33 years to the night of his birth and how I marveled at the miracle in my arms. I counted all his fingers and toes, memorized the slope of his nose, and was in awe over his curious blue eyes and few strands of blonde hair. I wondered if the colors would change or if he’d always be my blue-eyed, blonde-haired boy. What would he look like as a boy, a teen, a man? Who would he become?

Like a Pattern: Teaching gratitude to our children

Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up.

—Deuteronomy 6:7 NLT

The morning air was chilly and the wind howled outside my window, but inside I was cozy, propped up in bed, pillows behind me and a warm quilt thrown over my legs. I sipped hot coffee as I read from Jesus Calling: “A thankful attitude opens windows of heaven. Spiritual blessings fall freely onto you through those openings into eternity. Moreover, as you look up with a grateful heart, you get glimpses of Glory through those windows” (Young 341).

Pausing to ponder those words so fitting on the day before Thanksgiving, I heard footsteps from somewhere else in the house, a sound quite unusual in my home occupied solely by myself. The steps grew louder as they approached my bedroom. The door flew open and my four-year-old granddaughter, Layla, padded to my bed.

Thank You for the Walk: Giving thanks for the journey, no matter how dark, no matter how scary

Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.
—1 Thessalonians 5:18 NIV

The sun was already low in the sky when my cousin, Debbie, and I set out for our after-work walk on the farm where we grew up. With an eight-year gap in our ages, we didn’t experience childhood as playmates. But for this season in our lives, we are close companions. With both of us being single, it has been nice to have someone to recount the ups and downs of the day with—nicer still to hear her childhood stories and memories of our beloved grandparents.

Both of us are on a quest to slim down, so we walk briskly to shed the pounds, but on this evening I think our pace was more about outlasting the sinking sun. Quickly, we passed the cow pasture, and then paused at the electric fence obstructing our passage to the bay. What now?

Thanksgiving Day Family Feud

For as the body is one and has many members, but all the members of that one body, being many, are one body, so also is Christ. For by one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—whether Jews or Greeks, whether slaves or free—and have all been made to drink into one Spirit. For in fact the body is not one member but many.—1 Corinthians 12:12-14

It seemed a little unorthodox to me—to watch anything on TV other than football while the Thanksgiving turkey roasted.  But the laughter erupting from the den drew me to a comfy spot between my daughter Emma and her husband Ricky’s cousin who I just met that afternoon.  It seemed Family Feud was a family favorite among my newfound family.  Everyone was shouting out answers left and right.  Before I knew it, I was adding my own to the mix.  I guess I fit in just fine.

I glanced around the room at all the smiling faces and couldn’t help but notice how diverse the group was – white, black, Hispanic, young, old.  Not the traditional family I was used to.  Nor the traditional Thanksgiving.  But things were changing in my biological family.  My aging parents were no longer up to hosting a celebration for 50 family members.  It was time for something different.  So I invited them to a celebration with my children and their families on Wednesday.  That left Thursday open for me to accept the invitation to tag along with Emma and Ricky to celebrate with his family. So here I was—now part of another family.  Truly. For Hispanics mean it when they say, “Mi casa es su casa” (My house is your house).

“Name something that is wasted,” boomed Steve Harvey, host of the Family Feud.