Thanksgiving

The morning light has not yet touched the tips of the tall trees that surround us. I hear Ron lighting the fire in the woodstove to warm the house. We have moved back into the Big House, at least mostly. There is still furniture to replace and pictures to hang. But we are in, and will prepare a Thanksgiving meal to share with his parents later today.

Upon awakening this morning, I ponder this day of giving thanks. It has been a difficult year, a quicksand kind of year. I barely find my footing from one bad thing when another opens up before me. I don’t know where I would be if I did not recognize with absolute certainty that God is my rock, and God Most High is my Redeemer.[1]

As more and more stores are opening today to fan the flames of America’s seemingly insatiable appetite for owning more and more things, I remember the people who celebrated that very first Day of Thanksgiving. What would the few who had survived scurvy and malnutrition, due to the kindness of the local Native Americans and the mercy of God, think about our preoccupation with acquiring the latest gadget or getting the best deal in giant stores filled to overflowing with goods they would not even be able to identify let alone use?

This year we experienced a devastating flood and the long, slow process of rebuilding Sanctuary; having to replace 50-year-old sewer pipes that had mostly disintegrated under our San Diego home; four months of illness followed by major surgery and another month of recover; the major disruption of life caused by traveling between San Diego and Sanctuary regularly, living life in two very different places, often with Ron in one place and me in another; trying to move my piano students forward in their music with sporadic lessons; having to give up our midweek church community group; the personal financial consequences of Sequester and unpaid furlough days for Ron, in a year of unexpected additional expenses.

Then there are the smaller sand pits. I’ve come to expect about one new leak from some old appliance or faucet per week. And even when they are relatively minor, I will never look at plumbing the same way again, having seen the incredibly destructive power of water and its companion, mold. A relatively new dental crown that seemed solid decided to break. This in itself isn’t such a big deal, but since our dentist and doctors are all in San Diego, and the wait to see someone new near Sanctuary is at least two months, medical/dental needs require the 568 mile trip each way, back and forth. We’ve driven interstate 5 more times than I can count, during wind, rain, fog, sun, and dark of night. We’ve measured the exact halfway point where we can get gas so we only have to make one quick stop on each trip.

And so, as this incredibly unusual year draws to a close, I ponder giving thanks. My list is decidedly different than in previous years. I see God’s goodness through the lens of trouble and sorrow and uncertainty. I find that He is indeed faithful. He is not trite or capricious in these consistently challenging circumstances. The trouble He brings into my life fits unerringly with His perfect plan and purpose. Even, perhaps especially, when I have trouble seeing how.

So on this Thanksgiving morn, I am grateful for the God who is My Rock. I am thankful for a year of being reminded that He is good when life is not, that He remains faithful when everything else seems to be falling apart around me. His love, His mercy, His redemption are sure and certain. They are the things I can count on to always be true. I am learning to bow to His will more quickly when events occur that I would rather not experience. I am finding Him to be worthy of my trust.

Many months ago, when I was just entering the Year Of The Quicksand, I turned to my piano and wrote a new tune for a favorite old hymn. I played and sang these words over and over and over, usually with tears falling freely.

My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

Refrain:
On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand;
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness veils His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace;
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

His oath, His covenant, His blood
Support me in the whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay.

When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh, may I then in Him be found;
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.[2]

Today, with a heart that is both somber and at peace, I give thanks to God simply and sincerely because He is my Rock and God Most High, my Redeemer.

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[1] Psalm 78:35

[2] By Edward Mote, c. 1834