The Secret to Thanksgiving Without End
She wanted to have a tea party.
He wanted to play pilgrims.
She wanted to pour me a cup of sparkling juice from her shiny red teapot.
He wanted to serve me a plate of candy rocks in honor of Plymouth and “all those people who came over on the flower boat.”
We compromised with a Pilgrim tea time. Red plates and chocolate stones. Construction paper hats and pink nail polish. The perfect blend of fancy and fun.
He sat expectantly while she poured red refreshment with small careful hands.
Polk-a-dot juice splatters stretched from his plate to hers, but neither the pilgrim nor the hostess seemed to mind.
“Can we clank our cups?” she asked as she reached for her strawberry tea.
I smiled and nodded, reached for my drink. She lifted her shiny cup high.
He watched carefully, restless hands rapping on the table, until a flash of understanding illuminated his deep green eyes. In the quiet before the clank, he whispered, “We should pray.”
She paused mid-air, this little one whose word of choice is NO, and she bowed her matted blond curls in silent agreement.
He responded with neck stretched to Heaven and eyelids pressed tight. In the quiet before the clank, he offered thanks…
“Dear Gawd, thanks for my hat and for Maggie’s too. And thanks for this day and for this red juice, ‘cause I don’t like apple juice but I DO like this special tea, and thanks for our yummy rocks that look real, and for those pilgrims that learned how to grow corn and for the Indians that teached them how.”
He paused, taking wordless inventory of his gratitude. One eye slipped open. He peeked at me and then squeezed his eyes shut again before he could forget his final thought. “Oh, and thanks that Mom can fit at our table, too, even those she’s a grown up…”
Satisfied, he waved his crimson cup like a victory banner and whooped a rowdy Aaaaaaaa-MEN.
Our teacups met and jingled a celebratory clank of thanks.
Little one giggled with delight and splattered puddles of sparkling thanks across the plastic picnic table.
Their happy chatter filled the corner of the room. He rendered rocks. She offered refills. They christened the table with sticky spills and chocolate smudges, as I sat wondering if we’d just stumbled on a timeless Thanksgiving secret…
Isn’t gratitude always found in the quiet before the clank? In the pause that shifts our hearts to prayer, the halt that lifts our heads to heaven. Isn’t this what our forefathers intended as they gathered round the table on that cold winter’s morn amidst the clank of hardship and death, the clatter of disappointment and discouragement. Wasn’t this the key to their preservation- not merely their hard work and persistence, not just their will and their way- but their willingness to cast expectant eyes to Heaven and give thanks in the midst of it all.
Might this be the key for me, too? To pause amidst the clank of laundry piled high and the clatter of breathless racing against the clock and there– right in the middle of noisy must-dos and have-tos–to render praise. Perhaps this is the secret to carrying Thanksgiving into the Advent season, the age old recipe for a hope-filled new year: Pause and praise. In the quiet before the clank. Or in the clatter when there is no quiet. Praise always. Praise anyways.
Gratitude leads us to the table where we fit just right. And there, at His table, our cup overflows.
the Overflow:
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Psalm 23:5
Love the “Pilgrim Tea Time” compromise! Yes, always remember the intention of our forefathers this time of the year. I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving!
Love Josh’s prayer…you all look so adorable…those hats are awesome! We would love to have Thanksgiving tea with you!