“Over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go….”
It took all of the verses of the song, sung several times through, to get us to Grandma and Grandpa’s house on Thanksgiving Day. Since my family often sang during car trips when I was young, I measured distance by the number of songs it took, not the number of miles. You are My Sunshine, The Bull Frog Song, Froggy Went A Courtin’ were regulars, as was 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall for longer trips. During the holidays, we included our seasonal favorites.
“Hurrah for the fun; is the pudding done, Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!” Since timing was everything, we tried to finish the song as we pulled up to the gate. As we stepped onto the front porch, the sounds of laughter and wafts of roasting turkey and cornbread stuffing greeted us. Opening the door brought an avalanche of sights, sounds and smells, all tumbling out, surrounding us. Thanksgiving Day at Grandma and Grandpa’s house was a wonderful bombardment of hugs, loud conversation, clinking of dishes and silverware, and the clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen. And, above all the clamor, like prima donna sopranos, Grandma’s canaries trilled their own songs of thanksgiving.
Grandma and Grandpa’s house was small, but it seemed big, enormous even, in order to hold all of us, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and the holiday fixings, too. The men would gather in the living room, the women in the kitchen, and we kids managed to be everywhere. “Here, you older girls, please help set the table,” Grandma would begin to make order out of the cheerful chaos. Besides the dining room table, we set places around the small table in the kitchen, and the large table on the back porch, which usually held a jungle of plants and more canaries. Sometimes, we even set up the ironing board, lowering it to make a cozy table for two. There was always a place for each of us, and more than enough turkey and trimmings to take home leftovers!
That was the way it was—Thanksgiving just happened, a full-blown celebration—a party to which we had been invited. When you are young, it’s that simple.
But somewhere on the road to maturity, life got more complex, and so did Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving does not “just happen”; it takes a lot of time and work to prepare a Thanksgiving dinner. It truly is a sacrificial feat, as well as feast. And sometimes being thankful is not easy either, especially if dependent on abundance, good health, and the presence of family and friends. I am truly thankful for a country where tradition invites us to gather together in the spirit of sharing and thanksgiving, regardless of circumstance. It’s healthy for both body and soul.
Mom and Dad still insist on keeping Thanksgiving at their house. “Over the river…” still gets us there and the smell of roasting turkey and cornbread stuffing will greet us as we walk up the front steps. Our gathering will be smaller this year, but the house will be full in spirit, and we will hold hands and pray together in thankfulness, as generations of families have done before us, and as was done on the first Thanksgiving Day. It will be easy to be thankful.
Thanksgiving letters written by children living in a shelter for abused and neglected children recently reminded me that thankfulness can be pretty basic. Besides being thankful for the obvious– a warm shelter, clothes, food, and best friends, many were thankful for their arms and legs, and breathing, and “that I ain’t dead yet.” I, too, am thankful for all of those things. Maybe Thanksgiving is simply choosing to celebrate life, in all of its facets. And, perhaps the celebration is an everyday thing, but we only listen for the invitation once a year.
I was visiting a small local church a few years ago, where a beautiful lady, older and wiser than most of us, stood up to express her gratitude and thankfulness. Painfully stooped over, hands twisted by arthritis, sight and hearing failing, she leaned on her cane to steady her body, but her voice was strong. “I just want to thank the Lord for waking me up this morning; He didn’t have to, and sometimes, I don’t know why He bothers. But He did it anyway and so I am going to thank Him for it—because God is good.”
Maybe that’s what Thanksgiving is really about, that it comes down to just one thing—knowing Who to thank.