Thanksgiving

I have so much to be thankful for: a supportive family... friends who have become my family here... food (especially when it is free)... the freedom to adventure, to play, to try new things... unexpected opportunities... even work and school are a joy to me...

And this Thanksgiving is sure to be full of family and food, as it should be, yet it will not quite be full. This will be my first Thanksgiving without my grandfather.

Saturday, the waves beat steadily against the ferry as my family headed out to Whidbey Island. As we drove to the church, I looked out at the trees passing by and watched the last of the leaves gently give themselves to the wind. We gathered in the foyer as the rain pattered outside. We gathered in the strange celebration that is grief, tears welling at the pain of loss, yes, but more in a wonder and thankfulness for the gift of life, and for a life fully lived.

My grandpa was the most incredibly gentle man. I never saw him angry. He was not a man of many words, but his presence would warm a room. He always greeted me with a broad smile and made me feel so wonderfully loved. And I know he made so many others feel loved as well. Saturday, I sat with tears flowing as I listened to my dad and his brothers, my grandfather’s sons, as they told of their father, the love he had for them, and how he helped to make them who they are today, and I saw how he helped make me who I am today.

I am thankful for my grandfather and how he showed me how to live gently in a world of tumult, to work hard, to live fully no matter the circumstances, and to love the person in front of you no matter who they are. And I am thankful for our God who made him so. I am thankful for our God who enters into our grief.

We have as the symbol of our faith the cross. It is a symbol of loss, Christ understands our suffering; he welcomes our tears. But the cross is also a symbol of hope; we know the rest of the story.

So, I cried plenty Saturday morning, but I did not despair. That night, my whole family gathered with my grandma, with Grandpa Dick on all our minds, we ate and drank, and we laughed. Then the call went up for my dad and uncles to lead a song. Apparently, when they were boys, my grandpa would sing to them this little piece of nonsense "The Horses Run Around." Lyrics were printed off, and so in our grief and in our joy we all sang these ridiculous lines: "Oh, the horses run around, their feet are on the ground; Oh, who will wind the clock while I'm away, away?" And I am thankful for I know that our God was right there crying, laughing, and singing right along.