I am thankful this year.
Thankful that I have the basis to get up every morning, that my wife still loves me, that my dog is there, my kids are healthy, my fridge has food, my car has gas, and that the problems I face are in control enough to deal with.
When I talked to my grandparents about the Great Depression, they talked about how it shaped them, changed them, and focused them. Stories of hunger and dinners of squirrels. My grandfather complained about having to milk the cows, and I thought even at the time: Wow, he was rich in comparison.
This summer I watched apples and plums fall in the street, some from my own fruit trees. I watched blackberries dry on the vine and food go to waste in a way that would never have happened in my grandmother's depression.
Today four people can farm 5,000 acres and feed a city. Our problems are matters of faith and stuff being too cheap. Our cars are safer, and less people are dying of cancer, heart attacks, and hunger in the western world. We have it good.
However, do me a favour if you celebrate American Thanksgiving: Make a point to call someone who has no place to go. Heck, invite them to dinner.
I remember stories of true hunger and I thank God that my problems are what they are. I can’t imagine hunting squirrels to feed my kids.
