We are seeing some drab days. They look a lot like November. But the larches glow through the fog and when the sun comes out they only get brighter. The bright yellow cottonwood leaves are gone but their dark bare branches have their own beauty. One of my blueberrys was damaged by deer, but the leaves that were still there were a scarlet hue. Nature’s letting go only highlights other beauties.

I set out to write beautiful words about November. An ode or a letter or a poem to ground us in the season. Instead I have some random inspirations, much needed, I’m thankful for them.

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I interrupted Craig while he was servicing a truck with Jake Callahan. I told him I was going to WBC to get a can of stain and should I use the cash on the dresser or charge it or what? As I turned to go, Jake gave a small wave and enthusiastically said, “Thank You!” I didn’t know what he was thanking me for, but I smiled and waved back.

As I got into the car it hit me. Had he meant I should thank Craig? I have used that tactic in hopes my child would get the hint. I’d interrupted them without so much as an excuse me. Or please. And my mind flashed to the place it has been just a few minutes earlier— inwardly complaining about not having help with the wood staining project. And it seemed like the general trend lately had been to feel a bit martyrial.

I thought of all the good suppers I’d cooked recently and there were often other people at the table besides Craig and me. And every time they walk away from the table, they say “thank you for the good food”. And I had never once in that time thanked Craig for making the money so I could cook a good supper.

I remembered recent events clearly at that moment. Words I had thoughtlessly said, actions that spoke volumes about where my priorities were. I was sad to see how far I had fallen. Me! Who has studied and tried and ‘always’ been so thankful. Me, who encourage others to count their blessings. Even me, who has kept gratitude lists for years, sometimes more fervently than others. Me, who loves thanksgiving songs and righteously thinks they get skipped over every year.

I’m listening to Uncle Tom’s Cabin, a couple chapters a day. You should hear Marie St. Clare in chapter 16. She’s the worst, and yet I was afraid I sounded too much like her. (My books often connect to my life in this way, even if I’m reading fiction.)

I may be a traditional wife, keeper at home, creative and frugal and any other virtue you want to name. But am I grateful? All these wonderful things I do wouldn’t be possible if my husband didn’t support me. He’s the one that gives me the option of staying at home, that gives me the time to make things beautiful, or cook from scratch, or sew my own bespoke clothes. This would not be my life if I had to pay the electric bill.

I’d been thinking I’m doing such a good job. My grocery cart is greener than the other person in line. I have time for devotions. I keep the dishes done, mostly. I can research health or beauty or crafts and do it myself. Why don’t you all just follow my example?

The truth of the matter is, somebody over me is doing a good job, day after day, year after year? Without fail, he goes to work, he helps others, he prays, he listens, he admires me.

He’d probably say it was the One over him that made his job possible.

And it is. It all goes back to God’s goodness, faithfulness, providence. There is no room for boasting on my part. It isn’t me doing a good job. If my privileges were taken away, there go I, struggling to live and succeed in a world that hems you in on all sides.

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Thanksgiving is a great holiday. You can’t commercialize gratitude. It isn’t forced. There are no gift lists, no pressure, no sadness. Everyone gets a place at the table for a little bit, even the eccentric ones. (Maybe everyone is eccentric to somebody.)

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A gratitude list from the last few days:

• restful sleep
• northern lights
• foggy 3 a.m.
• the golden hour before sunset
• The Scarlet Letter and Uncle Tom’s Cabin
• BBQ pork already cooked
• leaves traded for fog
• a Christian husband’s faithfulness
• chiropractor helps
• the neighbors over for supper and his memories of a boyhood in Oklahoma
• A real disaster averted
• someone took my phone to the checkout counter and I got it back before knowing it was lost

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Great is thy faithfulness, O God my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not;
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above
Join with all nature in manifold witness,
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Pardon for sin, and a peace that endureth, 
Thy own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine and ten thousand beside!

Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see,
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!
--Thomas O. Chisholm

One of the residents at the nursing home requested this song. A lot of them sang along with us. It was another reproof and another blessing.

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And I want to think, “Now I’m grateful,” and let my guard down. But I know from experience it’s a chronic disease and I need to constantly do the exercises that make me grateful. I need to eliminate the things that make me proud and darken my vision. I need to eat the nutrients that keep me seeing things as they really are: I have been given much in spite of no merit of my own.

–Liz

PS. What are you thankful for this November?