Well, the leftovers have been put away, the guests have gone home, and football has become the main event.  I thought about venturing out to hit the post-feast sales, but my feet begged me not to, and apparently my feet are psychic, because - stop the presses – I’m sitting on the couch right now while my nine year old son rubs them. 

It was my first foray into hosting Thanksgiving and I’m quite pleased to tell you it was a rousing success.  After much debate over the menu, I think our feast was delicious.  People with anxiety spend way too many hours trying to decide between turkey tenderloins and an attempt at the whole bird, but in the end, my husband convinced me if we were going to do this hosting thing, we needed to do it right, and out he went to buy an entire turkey.  When he returned home with it, I convinced him that since he was so sure a thirteen pounder was the way to go, he could be in charge of said fowl. 

He grilled it, because how in the world would I cook the fixins if a turkey occupied my oven all day?  I admit I was skeptical (hey, even people without anxiety worry about the main course when they are hosting their family for Thanksgiving for the very first time), but my husband came through with flying feathers . . . I mean colors.  Even my children asked for seconds of turkey, and they are borderline vegetarians they eat so little meat.  The fixins were not bad either, if I do say so myself.

And now, with my crew safely gathered around, I can count my blessings.

I’m pretty good at remembering to be thankful for the big things - you know, those REALLY important blessings – the ones I thank God for every night because I know I could never live without them.  Adam, Charlie, Libby.  My family.  My friends.  Health.  Our home and food and freedom and Jesus.

But what about the little things?  What about all those precious moments in my life that I let pass me by without an ounce of gratitude for what they mean? 

What about the way Libby looks when she’s sleeping.  What about the way Charlie asks me to crawl under the covers with him at bedtime and then leans his head against my shoulder while we talk.  What about the way Adam’s eyes meet mine when one of our children does something cute and an unspoken understanding passes between us that no one else in the entire world could possibly grasp. 

What about hot chocolate that’s overflowing with marshmallows, the smell of burning leaves in the fall, water that becomes warm with the twist of a knob.  What about a sky glowing pink at sunrise, a text message from a friend at just the right time, a hug from someone you haven’t seen in ages.  What about a soft robe, new shoes, clean sheets.  What about electricity and pillows and dishwashers and toothpaste.

 
And what about the things that are harder to be thankful for?  What if I could find gratitude when I'm feeling anything but grateful.  What if, when my children are arguing, I could remember it's because God answered my prayers about becoming a mother . . . twice.  What if, when I'm stuck in traffic, I could remember it's because I'm lucky enough to live in a thriving city.  What if, when the laundry is piled so high I think I'll never get to the bottom, I could remember it's because I'm blessed to have plenty of clothing for every member of my family. 

I have so much to be thankful for.  Today and every day.  I don't have to look hard to find the many blessings in my life, because there are too many to count.   They are all around me, all the time.  I simply have to accept them as gifts, even when my first instinct is to think of them as burdens.  I have to choose to be thankful, and not just for the big things . . . the easy things.  I have to be thankful for everything, because every encounter, every circumstance, every day . . . is a blessing.    

May you and yours find much to be thankful for today, and every day after.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!