Giving Thanks

On my favorite day of the year, I find myself right smack-dab in the middle of my ideal morning--I, knee-deep in flour and spices and yeast and poultry; my two favorite men, snuggled up warmly in our bed; my favorite family members, no doubt having coffee and dressing in preparation to make the one-hour-and-some-odd-minutes drive to my house.

But I realize that after rereading the above (way too long and questionably punctuated) sentence, that I've placed the emphasis on me. And, as I tend to have to remind myself repeatedly, it is not all about me.

Growing up, I was taught to not ask for signs, that God would speak to me in His own time and His own way. So I've not asked for signs. I have, however, asked for guidance. Last Sunday, on our upteenth visit to the same church, I dropped Al off at his Sunday School class so that I could attend "big church" without the almost-2-year-old opportunity for the Devil to distract me from the Word (you think I'm kidding, but I really feel that way sometimes). The problem is that he (the child, not the Devil) usually screams and cries and reaches and pleads, "Mamaaaah" when I drop him off, only to settle down and begin playing exactly 12 seconds (I stand outside the classroom and count) later. Last Sunday, not only did he not cry, but he pulled away from me to get into that room. Finally, he recognized his teachers and his friends and remembered that "Oh yeah, this is where we play with Jesus stickers and eat Fruit Loops! Sweet!"

Then, in church, something incredible happened. For most, it was just a nice little special presented by the choir, but to me, it was a Sign. During a song about believing, a speaker came to the microphone and began reciting words that I haven't spoken in over two years: "

We believe in one God,
the Father, the Almighty,
maker of heaven and earth,
of all that is, seen and unseen..."

I thought I would lose it. Here I was, in a church that in my most Catholic days, I swore I would never attend, because of its decidedly non-liturgical style. A church that has begun to win me over with its mission work and volunteer opportunities and all it has to offer for my son. For once, I was glad that the Mr. hadn't accompanied me and that my sister- and brother-in-law were MIA that morning because I'm not a fan of having people I know watch me cry. But I couldn't help it. I realized that my heart and my beliefs had finally found a home. Finally.

So today, to make the day even more perfect, I'm not giving thanks to the universe or to the people in my life or to the fates or whoever. Today I give thanks to God. For our family, for our health, for our home. For our friends and our work. For you.

But most of all, I thank God for the peace that I feel today, a peace that has been missing for a long, long time.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends.