Columns

A Thanksgiving prayer

Marie Luttrell

For a day, we can be one. For a day, as we gather with families around a feast of turkey or tofu, we can be grateful. For a day, we can stop our routines; we can walk down the street or hike in the wilderness and greet strangers with “Happy Thanksgiving.” For a day, all people can recognize kinship in one another and the desire to give thanks to a Being greater than ourselves.

For a day, we can point our fingers upwards instead of at one another. For a day, we can lay down our prejudices concerning money or social standing, concerning race or religion, concerning liberal or conservative attitudes. For a day, we can invite instead of exclude. For a day, we can thank.

For a day, we can sing old songs: common songs instead of the top 10. For a day, we can find the beauty of the earth and the glory of the skies, and raise our hymn of grateful praise. For a day, we can sing of many dangers, toils, and snares, through which we have already come, and we can sing at the tops of our voices, “how great Thou art,” with all people of good will.

For a day, we can turn off the news of the world and listen to the news of our neighbours: the one who had an operation, the one who just became a grandmother, the one who has a son in medical school. For a day, we can bring a sandwich to that street kid instead of dropping a coin in his dirty baseball cap. For a day, we can stop to admire the rows of cornstalks drying in the neighbour’s garden.

For a day, we can think of the messy things of our own lives that didn’t turn out so bad after all. For a day, we can look at our failures and laugh at the foolish investments of our time, talent, and treasure, and be grateful for the wisdom we have gained. For a day, we can look at those things we didn’t think much about at the time, but have turned into true successes.

For a day, we can recite all the Shakespeare we know, or tell someone how to bake the perfect pumpkin pie, or how to blow a molten piece of silica into a beautiful glass vase, or how to guide a hang glider gracefully to earth. For a day, we can warm our hearts with all the little roads that have been built from our heads to our hearts, and cherish all those moments of knowing, knowing intimate and secret things. For a day, we can listen to our child instruct us on how to create a power point presentation.

For a day, we can name all the people we love. For a day, we can hold closely those people we love whose countenances are fading from our conscious memories. For a day, we can treasure the joy we receive from our pets. For a day, we can smile at how much fun we have had with our friends. For a day, we can simply enjoy their presence.

For a day, we can be with our Dads to watch football or fix the furnace or chop wood. For a day, we can learn one more time the secret to Mom’s perfect stuffing, and listen deeply to the mourning dove trapped in her sweet voice. For a day, we can ask for advice from a lonely aunt, when we know it will take an hour to receive it. For a day, we can walk in the family garden.

For a day, we can gather at the same table of thanks with Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Buddhists, Baha’is; with all people of good will, to praise God for beauty, for bounty, for love, because God inspires us to do so. For a day, we start from the good that unites us instead of needing tragedy to bring out the best in people. For a day, we can be one. For a day, we can give thanks.

It is a start.