His love endures forever.” {Psalm 107:1 NIV}
Three years
ago, our family hosted Thanksgiving dinner for the first time.
I’d waited a while to do it. We had lived in our 100-year-old farmhouse for more than a decade. We had a formal dining room. I knew how to cook a turkey.
I’d waited a while to do it. We had lived in our 100-year-old farmhouse for more than a decade. We had a formal dining room. I knew how to cook a turkey.
But established
traditions called for us to spend Thanksgiving Day with my husband’s side of
the family one year and with my parents at their house the next.
That year,
we were supposed to be at my parents’, but my mom graciously agreed that my
little family could host at our house instead. She and my dad would be our
guests, along with my brother and sister-in-law and their two children.
I dreamed of
how the day would go. It would be cold and gray and dreary…perfect for a fire
in the fireplace and cozy indoor games. We would linger over dinner, taking
time to savor each dish and share our thanksgivings around the table.
I would set
the stage in the dining room ahead of time and then close the double sliding
pocket doors. When our company arrived, I would slide the doors open with a
flourish to reveal a Norman Rockwell-esque scene.
“Happy
Thanksgiving!” I would declare. Probably, there would be applause. Probably, it
would be like a Hallmark movie.
Except,
of course, it wasn’t.
Join me over on (in)courage for the rest of this story that I love so much...