Giving Thanks

Giving Thanks.

I looked up the definition of give. Wow, there are a lot of ways to give something away – to sell, to bestow, to administer, to convey by a physical action, to yield or produce, to be a source of, to bring forth or bear, to make gifts of, to yield under pressure, to manifest or show, to attribute, to award, to entrust to another, to offer in good faith, to let go for a price, to sacrifice . . .

on and on they go but I come to rest on sacrifice. These meanings they paint a picture not of gratitude mumbled offhanded, but a deep spring welling up and spilling over, handing over all we thought we might ever keep.

Because can you really thank someone for what you feel you deserve, own or orchestrate? This day, this life of food and family, homes filled with toys and light, soft chairs to sink into with full bellies and babies playing at our feet – are they ours? When my hand closes tight the joy seeps away, trickling through my fingers, elusive I grasp.

Two years ago, the best Thanksgiving I have ever kept, ever celebrated. One month after my baby slipped away, lips barely parted, I whispered praise. The question is raised, the gauntlet thrown down and the thanks must be given away. Acknowledging who He is, what He has done, all He has given becomes a quite war cry. Boots planted firm in the battleground of my soul. We held each other, we ate quiet and simple and we sang, and I will always remember that day of beauty. Beauty you only see when you have nothing left to give and you give thanks anyway.

A year ago, the pictures are above, a tentative Thanksgiving. Our hearts were being redeemed, the promised child had come, God so very very good to us. But the healing had not come exactly as we had hoped. The road had been long, my body broken. The raw wound was closing over but spirits were sore and weak. I look back and see my body swollen from giving life. I see it soft, all wrapped up in the process and the budding life I hold. My heart shouted joy for this little child, our precious baby. I reveled in his soft embrace, but I yearned for God to restore the time the locusts ate. I cried out for an even path, a spot in the shade to rest because I felt lost and tired in the journey. We gave thanks, we held them close, and we walked forward.

Today I have everything and yet I am in a dry and weary land. I can not do the good I know I want to do. But Oh the riches he has lavished on us. Love and children, baby smiles and soft golden hair. Little boy hugs and artwork at the kitchen table. And still we fall under the fiery unseen arrows, we are tossed and turned by every wave, turning against our own bodies, tearing down instead of building up, fragmenting instead of uniting.

I am at a loss until I realize . . . Praise God for our brokenness! I do not want to be rich in my own eyes, stingily giving a bit of it away. A gift to see my emptiness, ugliness, inability, weakness so I can give away that last little bit that I have – the widows mite, in praise. When I have lost , give thanks. When I am at my worst, give thanks. When all is good, good, good, God don’t let me forget it is your due, give thanks! Give it away so He can move in. What a generous God He is.

p.s. Aaron was really serious about being an Indian 🙂 He thought the pilgrim hat was a bit silly though. We trace our hands, make turkeys the size of their years and engrave our gratitude in marker and crayon every Thanksgiving morning.

11-25-11 . 24-70