Aunt Rachel. That’s what we called her, even though she was not related to us and was at our family table every Thanksgiving. My dad would go pick her up at her place. In all these years I have no clue who she was, how we knew her, or why she came, but she did come and brought with her a feisty personality, sense of humor and such love for us all. She had lots of love.
For me, she epitomizes what Thanksgiving was growing up. A table full of sometimes disconnected people who gathered, laughed, prayed, shared life and got blessed by the joy poured out by my parents. It was always a table full of people, always my cousins, many wanderers ended up around my family’s table, many college friends with no place to go would arrive for the weekend. It was always a table laden with food, of every variety, beverages and surrounded by stories and laughter. Some years as my older siblings got into health foods, the stuffing would be with brown rice rather than bread made by my brother John, and the pumpkin pie made with real maple syrup.
One year as we all were awaiting everything to get ready, my sister’s corn souffle was still baking, taking its sweet time. I remember standing at the oven as everything else was done, and discussing what we might do with two of my siblings, Nancy and John. That was about when mom came in, and said, “Now why is that corn souffle taking so long,” and with that, she whipped open the oven door, took a spoon and stirred it to get the heat all the way through. If you know corn souffle, it is delicate, you don’t open the oven while it is baking. And also, Nancy had carefully lined her pan with waxed paper. So, with the stirring, we all knew that waxed paper had been stirred someplace into the souffle. Mom’s action happened so quickly, that all we could do was look at one another in surprise and laugh. Mom was right. It cooked quickly then, and we were soon seated at the table.
The joke that year was “who would get the waxed paper?” Mom never knew but the three of us who had been standing in the kitchen, looked around, eyes sparkling with joy, waiting to see. We didn’t want to worry mom with such details. As we watched, all of us smiled as Nancy signaled that she had gotten it.
Certainly, Thanksgiving has historic roots of the first pilgrims being assisted through a terrible winter by the American Indians and celebrating with a feast, and the history is important. But even when recalling that event, still the meal today means so much more to me because of the tradition given by the faith of my parents. They made that weekend filled with joy, laughter, and blessing. They demonstrated how there is always room at the table for another. They gave of themselves that those without families could have one. When I think of thanksgiving, I’m grateful for this upbringing, for the shared values, for this reason to give thanks to God not just for what has happened historically in our nation, but what happened in my own life.
As you have the opportunity to gather with others, whomever, wherever, I hope you can experience joy and a deep thankfulness to God for all the gifts placed in your life.