Thanksgiving Leftovers

Each year brings its own history. All the earliest years of my life Thanksgiving meant the Parade, walking up one flight of stairs to my Grandfather’s and of course, turkey.

The later years meant coping with cooking the turkey myself, and hoping my guests would find it edible. Our children were always home, and the house was bustling with activity and laughter. The meal was never gourmet, but the joy of family overcame any culinary errors.

Then, of course, came the memorable Thanksgiving in Caracas, which I have never forgotten. The kindness of strangers and medical personnel could never adequately be expressed with mere words. I learned more about humanity in the 14 days I spent in that land than I ever believed possible.

But those were yesterday’s memories.

This Thanksgiving now has its own history.

Of course, there was travel (I went by bus), turkey (incredibly cooked to perfection), and as always, giving thanks to the Lord for all our blessings.

Beyond that, there were two other elements unique to 2015.

This was the first time in my memory that America has faced its own mortality. We certainly never anticipated Pearl Harbor, nor the horror of 9/11, nor the nightmare that occurred at the Boston Marathon several years ago. This year we were forewarned by unseen terrorists of possible horror reaching our own shores. We were cautioned by all in power not to be intimidated, nor to fear. The threat was unsubstantiated. However, it had been made, and hung in the air like a visible presence. Bravely, Americans chose to use their intelligence and courage and carry on with the joys of our national holiday, but most of us still kept the cable news channels on softly in the background, hoping not to hear any sudden news flashes.

I recalled after my Husband and I had returned from Caracas, and he had recovered from his near death experience, an acquaintance approached us and inquired, “So how does it feel to face your own mortality?” I was shocked and not happy with the insensitivity of the question. But it has lingered in my mind and abruptly reappeared this holiday. America has been jolted into thinking all the horrors we have only read about in foreign lands might touch our beloved soil. We are facing our own mortality as a country, and it is not a happy prospect.

We were blessed this November of 2015 as we broke bread with those we love, admired the glistening turkey and held hands as we prayed, that nothing dreadful had occurred to disrupt our beautiful celebration. Yet in our hearts I wonder if we will ever be as complacent as we have been in the past. I know as we asked for God’s blessing this year, most of us included our country in our prayers. And I believe we will continue to do so for years to come.