23 Nov 2000
Last week my great-aunt Jean died. She was a small, quiet old woman who had lived an amazing and full life. She never lived nearby, though, so I never got to know her too well. But every time I saw her, I could count on hearing another fascinating story from her life. Last time I saw her, she told me about the day that she saw Charles Lindbergh land in Paris in 1927. For the past few months, I’d been looking forward to seeing her so that I could tell her about my time in Paris, and ask her about when she had lived there. But now, a thousand stories are forgotten.
Sometimes, times like these, asking me what I’m thankful for is like asking me why I believe in God. It’s a difficult question, not because I lack answers, but because I have so many answers that I don’t know where to begin. This is the first thanksgiving of my life that I won’t spend with my family, the first time I won’t spend the afternoon at my Grandma’s house, and the first one since I started eating solid food that I won’t taste my mom’s stuffing. In fact, I’ll spend this holiday an ocean away from all of those I love the most.
Still, I’m thankful. It’s the bitter tastes in life that give the sweet their sweetness. It’s still called today, and I know that I have people at home with a lifetimes of stories to tell, and stories yet to be written. So this year, I’m blessed with the chance to look across that ocean and see the value of all the individual stories that are part of mine, and those precious stories that I get to be a part of.
There’s God in the way that life comes to an end, but I’m thankful that He is also a God for my everyday. And that somehow, He is able to make His story part of ours, and ours part of His.
(what are you thankful for?)