My house smells good. I cooked three different cakes yesterday, plus a cake of cornbread for stuffing. This morning I’ve made potato salad and Paula Deen’s richest, most sinfully delicious macaroni and cheese. Tomorrow morning, if all goes well, we will all wake up to the smell of a roasting turkey. We’ll warm up some Orange Rolls, make a cup of coffee and all sit down to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. We’ll breathe a great sigh that for now, there is quiet peace and an undercurrent of contentment.
How fortunate we are to be able to enjoy this kind of Thanksgiving this year. I remember that last year, friends we love dearly were in the hospital with their son, who had been recently diagnosed with leukemia. They were praying for a miracle and were thankful for every day they had already been given. This year, they’ll celebrate that they have received their miracle. They will pray that the miracle is permanent and that the specter of cancer will never overtake their son again.
Many of us have families that will gather, softly treading over the fragile egg-shells of tension. We will smile, hug, share good food, and attempt to avoid the simmering undercurrent. It is, after all, Thanksgiving. We will celebrate what IS and will entrust what IS NOT into God’s safe keeping for yet another day.
Perhaps we are all praying for miracles, even if in just some small way. Many of us have tender places, areas in which we hold our breath and pray that things don’t cave in. We pray that all the fragile threads of relationships will be able to hold in spite of the weight of so many unresolved issues. We pray that we will all be able to see the good in one another and that our time together will leave our hearts satisfied, rather than disappointed or frustrated. Yes, many of us are praying for small miracles over the next few days, and we will celebrate all the other smaller gifts we get to savor, whether or not the other miracles come. After all, we always have hope, and that is no small thing.