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 I
remember with fondness my Thanksgiving Days outside a Texas town called
Mexia. Days of being “stuffed,” like the turkey we’d soon eat. And days
to celebrate and give thanks - always for family - and especially for
the U.S. of A! After cautious nods to cousins not seen since last year,
after shaking hands and enduring hugs of “my how you’ve grown,” we “kids”
would retreat to the expansive front lawn. There we’d play, wait, and engage
a growing appetite all under the inviting eye of the large kitchen window
where smells abounded with promise of what was to come. Eventually the men
folk would come out (this, I learned later, had more to do with the fuss and
flurry within than with male propensity to get out). Some would smoke, some
would sit, but all would talk. And, given the right moment and mood, my Dad
would occasionally pick one up that had landed too close, and waft me a “long
one” that would fly from his still adroit left arm and into my hands down the
lane. “Dad, why’d you not play football?” I’d always ask. And he’d reply,
“our school was too small, even for Eight Man, and I doubt I’d have been any
good anyway.” But when he said that last line, he’d wink. And I knew,
that he knew, that I knew that my Dad would have been good at
anything.
Finally, Mama-May would ring the dinner bell. “Wash up!” And, “how’d
you kids get so dirty so fast,” she’d say. And next…” I’ll not have you
coming to my table looking like that!” And we’d just shrug then hustle to be
first to the washbasin so as to get first dibs on the hand towel dry and
clean. Once assembled in pecking order of age alone, the younger always at
the kids-table, I’d give a silent “thank you, Lord” for being the first
grandson, and now wonder why as I would longingly look to the card table
tucked in Mama-May’s kitchen’s corner with conversation of more sense and
sense. But then, as if given cue, Paw-Paw, would clear his throat to speak.
Our gentle patriarch! Not nearly so formidable as some, and always
approachable, he was my mother’s father and I loved him. A gentleman and a
gentle man, all knew of his love for God. So that when Paw-Paw prayed, he
prayed to God, not for or to us. So on Thanksgiving Day we ‘d just
“settle down” for we knew we were in for a one of his long ones.
Paw-Paw would start slow, listing only the pleasantries, and you pretty
near always forgot that part. But then he’d begin “reflecting” and his voice
would get so sweet, that we could not help reflect with him over all
those “things” that God had done for us that year. There was God’s
strength and staying over Aunt Nettie, and her battle with cancer. There
was God’s love in letting us all see the birth of a new child to love,
raise, and pass on to the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. There was
prayer for our family, then there was prayer for our military, and
Paw-Paw always seemed to know where they were serving in some land far away.
Then there’d be prayers for “those less fortunate,” who were always the
“someone’s” other than us, no matter how tough things had been that year.
Paw-Paw would pray and pray, praying us right up to where the turkey and
dressing lost some of their smack, and we, well we were just ready to give
it all away, if we could. We, a family holding hands and round a table of
plenty, and with love so strong and meaning so right that even T.V. stars, and
sports stars, and Elvis Presley himself would have taken second seat. For
somehow, when Paw-Paw prayed his Thanksgiving Prayer, our perspective was
changed, at least for that day. And that was often enough to last us the
whole year.
But Paw-Paw is gone now. And Dad is too. And I’ll take their places this
Thanksgiving Day with a worry and excuse that “things aren’t like they used to
be.” But that worry haunts me and begs me ask, then why? Is it really the
times? Or me? For how often I would see my Paw-Paw pray. And how
often I would see him perform acts of kindness in time too innumerable to
recall. There was a phone call at night, a knock on the door, and a man with
a family in need. And in all there was Paw-Paw the same. So that I know that
for my day and time I must just like him be. For around
my table this Thanksgiving Day will be hands of others like this, who peeking
up to look from heads bowed and eyes closed will see, none other than one
praying…me.
A REQUEST FOR PRAYER
Now as I close this Thanksgiving greeting to you, may I request that
you both pray and remember your church during these final days of this year.
The slow economy has affected us all. And the crunch you are perhaps feeling
at home is felt in our church’s budget as well. Two Sundays ago I challenged
the church to “pray and dig deep” as they sacrificially are faithful to our
church’s general budget. The budget for this year called for 2.3 million, but
we are requesting that our church respond dramatically to even bring us to a
number short of that - 2.2 million to general budget by year-end. That would
mean that from November 17 – December 31, our church members respond by giving
$500,000 to the general budget. And my, we do need this to replenish even
minimal amounts of cash. The good news is this - already many of you have
responding making us report good progress. As of today we are $105,000 toward
this goal, leaving us $395,000 more to go. As you consider your year-end
giving, as well as your on-going support of this church and her mission and
ministry, please be faithful. If all our members did what they could, we
would receive in excess of 5 million each year, so I simply ask that you each
do your part. Remember, God knows our hearts. And if we are faithful to Him,
that faith will be enough. I know you will respond. And God bless you as you
do.
Till Sunday then, “Happy Thanksgiving”,
D. Samuel Dennis
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