Thanks and gravy.

Around the country, people are gathering to eat, share stories, watch football (or perhaps basketball, or even hockey; it’s an eclectic nation), to argue over everything from how long to cook the turkey to how to make the cranberry compote stretch to eight people rather than six, to why Elmer or Pablo or Rasheed brought that girl home from college, doesn’t she have a family of her own?!? And to give thanks.

We live in a world of wonders, so many created by man, so many that they have become humdrum. We live longer, live better than any generation before us. We seek always the new, always the novel, the improved, the fashionable, and it’s all really cool. And we come home one day a year to our families and sit and share and love. And we give thanks for it, and laugh and pass the mashed potatoes, and yet we miss the most wonderful thing.

The still, quiet, immense voice of God uttering a simple phrase.

“You’re welcome.”