Here we are again. It is Thanksgiving.
Where, O where, do we begin?
I could say thanks for buttons, zippers, snaps and velcro, or we would all be wearing sweatshirts and sweatpants every day.
Or for hi-liters, which help me remember poignant words and phrases that light fires in my imagination and heart.
Or seeking furniture for the homeless who now have a home, someone calls and says, “We have a couch.”
Or the cold nose of my dog, nuzzling me right now.
Or a military honor guard who folds the flag as if his life depended on it and looks right in the eyes of the widow to bring comfort and gratitude from the President.
Or the Psalmist writing, “though there be tears in the night, there will be joy in the morning.”
Or the sweetened taste of a tart cherry in a pie or cherry crunch.
Or the cold weather which lets me wear my pullover fleece from the Down Syndrome Association of Central Kentucky.
Or freshly washed hands.
Or The Message.
Or the Ray Harm print of seven game birds over my desk.
Or thankful birds after I feed them.
Or a grandson with a sense of humor.
Or, or, or, ad infinitum.
Thanks be to God. Period.
Moving to the deeper places,