A Thanksgiving Story

It was Thanksgiving morning, and the man sat alone in his chair watching the parade on tv. For what was he to be thankful? That his family hadn’t abandoned him after his wife’s death? Ha. He knew they hung around for the money.

No, life was hard. He had studied hard and worked hard and accumulated enough to be comfortable. No one had ever given him anything; why should he thank anyone? Certainly not God, who had taken his wife. Well, maybe not taken. It was time, she was suffering. Maybe he could be thankful she had not lingered on for years in declining ability, worsening health.

But that was just the whims of life and death. He would die someday too. Everybody did. His hard work over the years had paid for the best medical care and daily help available. That was the most he could do. Her death and his death were out of his hands.

Were they in anyone’s hands? Did God ordain when people were born and died? Some people thought so, but it made no sense to him. Certainly, his life was his own to live. People made bad choices which led to an early death; others made good choices that led to a long life.

Except it didn’t always work out that way. Mean-spirited alcoholics lived into their nineties; kind nurses in their twenties were shot in a random act of violence. Obviously no intelligent being planned this.

Unless there was more to “life” than how long you lived it.

He looked out the window at the clear blue sky. He knew it was cold out there. The bare limbs of the tree stood stark against the bright sun. It was stunning. How many moments had he carved out his busy schedule to admire the beauty of late fall? Very few. He had the time now.

He pushed himself out of the chair and walked to the windows. A cardinal sat on a bare branch, his mouth opening and shutting as he called his mate. A murmuration of starlings swooped and swarmed against the blue sky. A squirrel darted up the tree trunk, twitched, and scampered back down. The world was alive out there and it was beautiful.

What a gift to be able to see and appreciate such beauty. He could be thankful for that. He didn’t make the birds, the squirrel. He didn’t even plant the tree or help it grow. Had others done so, or were these just gifts from the universe, accidents in time?

The cardinal turned to face him, tilting his head. Such bright red feathers, such a beautiful crown. The bird seemed as interested in him as he was in the bird. He felt his throat constrict and tears gather in his eyes. What in the world? As if this bird was telling him to remember all the beauty in the world. That this beauty was no accident, but a gift. A gift from a loving God.

The parade still played in the background, loud and falsely cheerful announcers yelling over the carnival sounds. He couldn’t turn away from the cardinal. This silent bird was speaking to his heart in a way the tv announcers never would.

God is real. God is good. God loves you. Give him thanks.

What had he done, really, all by himself? He did not make himself smart. It was not his choice to be born in a peaceful time in a country with a stable economy. He had been successful, but others had helped him along the way. He’d had a long marriage to a wonderful woman, children that would come and take him to their house for dinner later that day. He had food and shelter and clothing and warmth. He could look out his window and see a beautiful world.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you for giving us this day to stop and recognize your presence in the world. Thank you for family and friends and food. Thank you for the beauty of your creation. Thank you.

Love in Christ, Betsy