oozing gratitude

Here we all are. . .or at least the Mason half of us. We were blessed to be able to spend Thanksgiving all together this year. As we grow older and bigger (size of families not necessarily size of waistlines), this becomes an amazing feat to gather together for a Thanksgiving feast. This year as my father offered the Thanksgiving prayer, my heart heaved beyond its bounds and the dams behind my eyes burst. . . . tears of gratitude streamed down my face and I began to pray that my dad's prayer wouldn't end until I could pull myself back together. That didn't happen. I realize that tears, gratitude and Thanksgiving all seem to naturally join themselves together, but for me who pretends to never cry, it was a shocking public display.

As a child I always had a reputation of being "invincible" nothing made me cry. I had a high threshold for pain and rarely did my family see me cry. I think stoic was a word I heard often in reference to me. I still think I am incredibly "tough" at least as far as physical strength. Emotional strength, well that's a different story. I'm not sure when it happened. I don't know if it was my mission or getting married or having children or just plain experiencing more of life as time passes, or maybe a little of all of that, but I am often moved to tears. The barriers that used to be in place that provided shelter and cover for my emotions have disappeared. I don't like to cry. I don't look very nice as my face distorts and battles against the emotions that build up until they spill out my eyes. I don't like the "Great Lash Maybelene mascara" streaks it leaves behind either.

What I do like is that it is a sign that I love. A couple months ago we gathered at the death bed of my beautiful cousin Ronda. As we sat in that room to say our goodbyes many tears were shed, and her brother-law-commented something to the effect of, "We cry because we hurt, and we hurt because we love!" I don't think that was the exact quote, but that is what was etched into my mind. When I think in those terms, I try to see tears as love oozing from my eyes.

With each passing day I find more and more of life that I value, treasure! I know that no family is perfect just as no one person is perfect and since many people make up a family-- a family usually comes with many imperfections, mine included! In spite of the shortcomings I am so grateful for families, both the one in which I was born into and the one that I was a co creator to. It is an interesting paradox I find myself in when I analyze my family relations. They "love" me more than anyone else does which also means they "hurt" me more than anyone else can.

The prayer offered on Thanksgiving Day was one in which I couldn't help but feel the bounty in my life. It was apparent as Ronda's husband and son and mother gathered around our table without her that she was missing, and yet her influence and memory were there. I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the feast placed before us (after an especially difficult financial year) I thought of those who might go hungry that day and many other days throughout the year. My gratitude for my freedoms were heightened by the thought of those in bondage whether it was politically, physically, or spiritually. Each blessing was magnified by its corollary opposite. The result: love and gratitude oozed down my face!