In her book Flight
Behavior, Barbara Kingsolver has a young brother tease his baby sister by
hiding her doll beneath a blanket and telling her it’s gone. When Cordie, the
little girl, finally realizes that the doll does not disappear, her mother, Dellarobia,
realizes that her child has learned the most important lesson in her life; it
is possible to believe in things even when we can’t see them. She has discovered
the importance of faith. Not faith in just the traditional religious sense, but
faith in all the things we can’t see that make life livable for people of all
religions and beliefs. Things like love and trust. Compassion and forgiveness.
Friendship and commitment. I am reminded
of how my own life floats on the faith I have in those around me and I
completely understand why Thanksgiving is such an important day in our
community. I hope on this Thanksgiving Day you find the time to thank all the
people you know who have made your life more satisfying and full. All the
people who have helped you find your way and comforted you when you got lost.
All the people who have helped you even when you didn’t know it. If, like me,
you are lucky enough to have many of those people around you today, I hope your
day is filled with gratitude and fond memories. I know for certain I can’t smell roasting
turkey without seeing images of my Mom scurrying around our farmhouse kitchen. I
can’t smell the sweet aroma of a wood fire without seeing my Dad adding logs to
our stove. If you aren’t able to be with
those you love, I hope you can find a way to show your own gratitude and
remember the lesson learned by Cordie; it is possible to believe in things even
when you can’t see them.
Happy Thanksgiving
A poem:
Green Pear Tree in September
By Freya
Manfred
On a hill overlooking the Rock River
my father's pear tree shimmers,
in perfect peace,
covered with hundreds of ripe pears
with pert tops, plump bottoms,
and long curved leaves.
Until the green-haloed tree
rose up and sang hello,
I had forgotten...
He planted it twelve years ago,
when he was seventy-three,
so that in September
he could stroll down
with the sound of the crickets
rising and falling around him,
and stand, naked to the waist,
slightly bent, sucking juice
from a ripe pear.
my father's pear tree shimmers,
in perfect peace,
covered with hundreds of ripe pears
with pert tops, plump bottoms,
and long curved leaves.
Until the green-haloed tree
rose up and sang hello,
I had forgotten...
He planted it twelve years ago,
when he was seventy-three,
so that in September
he could stroll down
with the sound of the crickets
rising and falling around him,
and stand, naked to the waist,
slightly bent, sucking juice
from a ripe pear.
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