I posted this last year, but it still rings true with a few timely revisions.
It’s
interesting to me that we can be sort-of programmed to do certain things at
certain times. Take today, for example. It’s the last Thursday of November.
Pretty much anyone in the United States of America can tell you the
significance of this day. It’s Thanksgiving, of course. Since we were children,
we can remember mom getting up early putting a turkey in the oven, spending
hours and hours and hours making mashed potatoes, and stuffing, and twelve or
six or two different side dishes, and rolls, and pies. Tables were set. Music
was played. Guests were dressed up. Wine was poured. Toasts were made. Dinner
was served.
But why? What
is the significance of this day? This moment?
Are we
practicing a religious celebration? Nope. Are we expressing our love toward our
one and only? Nope. Are we recognizing one of our Country’s great current or
historical leaders, or fallen soldiers, or national freedom? Nope. Are we
copying historical events? Kind-of. We’re probably copying our mom’s, if
nothing else.
Although Thanksgiving
has turned into a very different one than that of centuries past, the tradition
has remained. The original celebrators were thankful for their successful
harvest. Ummm . . . I could kill a plastic plant. I have no culinary harvest. I
don’t grow corn like the Wampanoag Indians. I don’t catch my own fish, or shoot
my own deer, or milk my own cow like the Pilgrims.
My harvest is
different.
My harvest is
my husband, who is my rock, who makes me insane, who is sarcastic and funny,
who has been a part of my life longer than he wasn’t, who is so freaking smart
it scares me a little, and who knows just how to hug me so I can feel the fear,
or pain, or anger leaving my body with a deep breath.
It’s my
children, who were wanted more than words can ever express, who have made me
laugh, and cry, and scream, and sing, and dance, and never question, and
unwaveringly defend, and pray, and create, and love.
It’s my parents
who raised me to expect more of myself tomorrow than I gave today, who taught
me to be hopeful, and forgiving, and humble.
It’s my brothers
and sister, who teased me, tickled me, gave me advice and rides, and loved me
no matter what was happening in our collective or individual lives. And it’s
the knowledge that I will see the lost one again one day.
It’s my friends
who are emotionally close and logistically way too far, and the ones who are logistically
close but I’ve struggled to let myself know.
It's my dogs
who bark too much, get poopy-butts, need allergy medicine, and nearly die from excitement
when I walk in the door, who can't wait for me to sit down so they can jump on
my lap, who wait patiently through the night to see me the next day.
It’s my house
that is messy, disorganized, not fully decorated the way I want, expensive,
warm, filled with photos, and memories, and love, and the place where my
husband and children come home to me.
It’s my job
that I don’t usually look forward to going to, but enjoy once I get there, and
the paycheck that results.
It’s my car
that I hated writing a check for, resent paying the gas and insurance for, am frustrated
to repair, and that gets me safely and unfailingly wherever I ask it to.
It’s the fresh
food that I am too tired and lazy to go to the well-lit, plentifully stocked
grocery store to buy, and even more unenthused to cook.
It’s the
education that never seems to end, that eats up too much time, that is hard and
expensive and rewarding and exciting, and will allow me to finally be a teacher.
My harvest is
my hopes and dreams, which I am allowed to have because I was raised in a
country protected by volunteers and led by visionaries, soldiers and leaders
who have guided us through large and small battles to ensure that I can wake up
every day, in my warm home, with my loving husband and children, and go to
work, in my car, to make money to buy food, and celebrate Thanksgiving with
family and friends.
Even though we
have lost so many people that we loved in the past few years, it’s okay to be
thankful. In fact, we must be. We must recognize what we have, and loudly
appreciate it ~ The people around us, and the people who have left us, because
each one has given us a piece of who we are today. As cliché as it sounds, we
would not be who we are today without their presence in our lives. We must take
full advantage of every opportunity that we are presented with, because that’s what
freedom means. We must not let one minute of our life pass without it having
the significance it deserves.
We’re
programmed to do that on Thanksgiving. But, today I realized that every day
should be one for giving thanks.