Thanksgiving

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. Turkey with all the trimmings. Family dinners and togetherness. Football games. Shopping expeditions.  Afternoon naps.  Homemade centerpieces and decorations. Getting out the Christmas lights and decorations.  Preparing for days to cook a meal for 6 hours that is inhaled in minutes. I always loved that part. Seriously. A home filled with wonderful smells and sounds and sights. 

Except for mine. I am sad. And a bit resentful of all those Facebook posts of yummy pies and turkey and stuffing. Tired of reading recipes for sweet potato casseroles and the debate over which stuffing is better. I actually gave away our thawed Butterball turkey this morning to someone who can put it to good use.  Because I do not feel like cooking a five course meal tomorrow. None of our kids will be with us, or grandkids. No parents or siblings, not even the Kazees. Just me and Alex and the dogs, and I will be spending most of my time at Transylvania Regional Hospital. With my mom, who had surgery over a week ago. And she is still here because she isn't well enough to go home. So I sleep on the little bench in the room, and get her ice chips and help her get up and ask nurses questions and try to eat the hospital food on an extra patient tray. 

So as I sit here feeling sorry for myself and glum, and more than a little bit jealous of those big turkeys with homemade dressing and cranberries, a verse in 1 Thessalonians came to mind: "In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." 

And I look at my mom in her hospital bed, with tubes just about everywhere. As she reads the paper and eats another ice chip. As the IV alarm beeps again and the nurse comes in and fixes it, and as mom puts down the paper and smiles at me. As my husband is at home taking care of all four dogs by himself. As one daughter is tucking in her three precious girls halfway around the world. As another daughter is awaiting the birth of her firstborn child. As my sister and her daughters drive to visit my dad and stepmom and brother. And another sister is welcoming her grown children at her new home in Florida. As friends call me to ask how we are doing, and send their prayers up on our behalf. And I contemplate how I am saved by grace, through no doings of my own.

And I am thankful. 

Family, the ties that bind... and gag

Yes I know. Erma Bombeck came up with that line. But there is no other way of  accurately describing how I feel. Family ties- inextricably linked by our gene pool. 

Although at times, I think I was adopted...

I grew up in a home where neither of my parents were close to their siblings or cousins, or even to each other, for that matter-- except long enough to make five children. My parents divorced after 15 years of nearly non-stop arguing, when I was 9 years old, and our house became much more peaceful then. But we still had very little contact with relatives, other than an occasional visit with my maternal grandparents in Toledo, my great aunt, Sister Mary Patricia, or a chance encounter with cousins on my dad's side while on a weekend visit with him. My dad and his only brother never really communicated, and still don't to this day; my mom seldom heard from her brothers and sister, except for the occasional Christmas card; she has one living sibling, her sister--and they do not talk to this date. So, we grew up thinking this was the norm, I guess--that family isn't meant to be close. The only loving family ties I witnessed were those between my mom and her parents, and my Uncle Rob and my Nana. 

As I grew older, I couldn't help but notice the differences between my family and family relationships in my friends' lives. They celebrated holidays together, called each other just to chat about things, got their hair done together, and actually enjoyed each other's company! We just heard bitter comments about the other parent. Visitations with aunts and uncles just stopped with the divorce.  Sadly, as I grew older my sisters and I grew farther apart from each other and from our mom...so much so that by the time I was in my twenties, none of us really knew each other at all--our communication style of choice, learned in the home by watching our role models, was passive-aggressive. My handicapped brother was too much for Mom to handle so she pushed him off onto our dad (a cause of bitterness still to this day), and of the four girls, two of us moved out of the house and in with Dad as soon as we were legally able ("grass is always greener on the other side" theory). That drove a bigger wedge between each of us and our mom, and I continued through early adulthood with a huge chip on my shoulder. Except for my brother, all the siblings felt forced to choose sides--we almost NEVER were on speaking terms with both parents simultaneously. This was our reality. Sad, but true. 

Fast forward fifty years...my mom and I have resolved our differences; in fact, she is currently living with us because, well, she is 88 and that's what families do. It is challenging and wonderful and frustrating all at the same time. But I feel fortunate to have a second chance to get to know her. But I'm not always feeling so magnanimous.  Many times I am frustrated. I am angry. I am tired of being the one who reaches out, calls, sends cards, waits for replies.  I resent selfish, self-centered behavior. I do not understand how folks I just met this year at church care more about how we are doing than my own family. I don't feel smug or holier or better for what we are doing. Just confused. I look at other folks' situations and am completely baffled, and yes, embarrassed, by the stark difference between how our family behaves and others behave. My 70+ year old neighbors are close to ALL their siblings, children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, and her mom, age 100, has lived with one of the daughters for over 40 years. Forty years! And they all support each other, and help out, and share the care. And I cannot help but ask, "what in hell is wrong with my family?"

I could give a thousand excuses for their behavior, and for mine in the past. I could rationalize it as being part of a "dysfunctional family." But the real answer lies in the question, "what in hell..."  Because it certainly is not "what in heaven..."  Only our Heavenly Father can touch our hearts and open our eyes to see what we should do...not just what we can do or want to do. Without Christ in our hearts, we are incapable of being anything  but selfish, self-centered humans, sinful to the core.  So despite the sorrow and sadness I feel, I rejoice that God has chosen me, has elected me, and sent His Son to save me. 

My family ties to my Heavenly Family bind and do NOT gag. He is my rock and my shield and my joy. Thank God for my ties that bind.