Thanksgiving in small possible steps - Nov 27

Thanksgiving shouldn’t be an I don’t want to crawl out of bed day, not that I haven’t felt that way about parting the covers just to shove a cold turkey in a warm oven.  But we think it shouldn’t be that way, that thanks should pour forth regardless.

Today I got to listen to my husband battle to be a family leader, grasp for words that are just…hard.  You know God is good and gracious and we hold hands in prayer in privilege, but we were all standing in that circle figuring out how to put words, out-loud words, to the thanks, that gut-wrenching, poured out thanks, thanks that really are just groanings.  The words were hard and fumbled.  Three down, two delivered and standing.  What do you say? How do you act? You want to be like Job and choke out the “and yet will I trust you” words, but how do you shovel sweet potatoes when there’s no spouse, much less offer thanks? 
I know it’s all temporal, this life and our trappings, but we’ve buried and cremated far too much. Those standing victories are the headcount in the land of the living, surviving past the land of suffering, the two who won hard victories with cancer.  You’d think there’d be a whoo-hoo cheer, but what’s left of all of us is a puddle of exhaustion and swirling emotion, stages of grief and relief stained with grief. 

It’s a strange thanks shoveling turkey in this light.  It makes me think of the obscure verse in Ecclesiastes 7:2 that I never grasped much before.  “It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart.”  Mourning gives perspective, but it also leaves us raw and desperate for grace, desperate in a good way, grasping in hope toward the want, the want to always give thanks, but how?

And I know we wondered what for?  We counted eyelashes and fuzzy hair and doggy kisses, meals that tasted good devoid of chemo aftereffects, squished pumpkin pies, one left at home in the freezer, an oven that decided to work in spite of overloading a circuit breaker, all kids present and accounted for, in one place at one time, and no one wanted to be grateful for the gluten free stuff.  Counting is good.  I read a great article this week about a blessing counting couple who endured losses so seemingly unfair, losses of children and cancer, and it really made me think.  (It really is an encouraging article.) This is how they were described.  http://catholicexchange.com/saints-are-still-being-made-meet-chiara-corbella#.VGxHrC4qRSk.facebook

“What they lived was, by human standards, very intense and difficult. We might be tempted to say, ‘I could have never done what Chiara did.’ What Chiara did though is take little doable steps each day (‘Piccoli Passi Possibile’, literally ‘small possible steps’). Her prayer was that they would have the ‘grace to welcome the grace’ which God would give them to keep going forward. No matter what circumstance we are in, personally, this is what we should pray for with great faith: grace to be open to receive the grace needed to face everything in our lives.”

It was today for our family, immediate and extended.  “Piccoli Passi Possiblie.. Small possible steps…Grace to welcome the grace” to move forward.  Those stumbling toddler steps that Asa takes each day, falling as he flies around every bend because his equilibrium is still off, still needing a steady hand to hold, still needing someone to kiss away his tears.  Though we fall, we get back up.  Again.  Tearfully again.  Grasping hands, again.  Piccoli Passi Possiblie.