Our front door
I would like for Thanksgiving at our house to look like the Norman Rockwell painting where the family is gathered around a beautifully appointed table, big golden turkey waiting to be carved, everybody smiling. It doesn’t.
Instead, it looks very much like a hunting camp. It looks a bit like an animal shelter when some of the sons bring their big dogs and our fifteen pound cat cops a serious attitude. This year the challenge was keeping the dogs from peeing on the planted lettuce that would later go in our salads.
I would also like for folks to think our grandchildren refrain from running through the house, jumping on furniture, and banging the piano. I wish! I also like to think they will leave the toys neat and towels hung up. Not so. In fact…
At the end of the day…
There were moments when Thanksgiving didn’t look at all as I like to image it. There were moments when our emotional love tanks didn’t get full all the way. And moments when we all had to extend grace to one another.
But altogether, it was exactly what a family is meant to be: not perfect, but striving. Apologizing. Extending grace. Covering one another’s shortcomings. It was a day when we didn’t ask for God’s blessings. We could only pray for Him to enable us to begin to appreciate the overwhelming abundance He has allowed us to experience.
At the end of it all, I’m happy. We did the best we could. We’re learning what it means to live in one accord. And we made more memories. Most of them good. :)
Willing grandchildren cleaned the playroom
Sweet cousin love
Grownups’ night out!