I’m an unabashed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade watcher. (Wow, it kind of feels like I just took a huge risk confessing that . . . )
My Mom taught me to love the parade and I carry on that tradition in her honor. The mood’s got to be just right. So, I light a fire in the fireplace (just the fake gas log– air quality management concerns, you know), open both sliding doors in the family room to put a chill in the air (it’s tough living in Southern California!), prop my socked-feet up on the table and hug my favorite coffee cup full of goodness. I usually do all this by myself. I could never get the family excited about cartoon balloons, lip-syncing pop stars, Broadway song and dance exhibitions, and Al Roker’s weather updates. (My family has, for some weird reason, settled on the National Dog Show as their tradition – honestly, I think it has more to do with sleeping in than anything else.)
If I’m honest with myself and spent some time with a therapist on this obsession it would reveal an odd romanticized connection to the Christmas movie, Miracle on 34th Street, through which I probably filter my parade watching. (It always seems to be something like that takes the fun out of everything!)
I remember the Thanksgiving morning, following a Thanksgiving Eve worship service when I told the church, as part of my sermon, the sad tale that I usually watch the parade by myself. That morning – just as Al yelled, “Let the parade begin!” there was a knock on the door and one of our Costa Mesa families marched in and watched the parade with me. Now, that’s friendship!
The real inside scoop is that I use my “parade time” to take a journey down memory lane, to reflect, to give thanks for Kath and the boys, my family and friends, the incredible privilege I have to live out a ministry calling as a career, for the wonderful and messy country in which we live, to remember loved ones already in Heaven and their impact on my life, and to shed a few tears.
But, so far, there isn’t much about my Thanksgiving morning that isn’t repeated by millions of people across our country. What’s the big difference-maker for me? It’s a recognition and a thankful heart for all that God has done for me in Jesus Christ! Without that, it all comes up pretty empty.
King David got it right. Try putting Psalm 100 at the “center” of your Thanksgiving. Let your soul sing it out!
Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth! Serve the Lord with gladness!
Come into his presence with singing! Know that the Lord, he is God!
It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise!
Give thanks to him; bless his name!For the Lord is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations.
Now, that’s the right filter for a Thanksgiving Day! May Your Thanksgiving Be FULL of the Celebrations of God’s Blessings in Your Life.
Happy Thanksgiving!
When I was growing up, “first days” were usually chronicled by standing at the front door and having your picture taken. It was just what we did and many families still do – just take a look at Facebook in the later part of August! That memory was one of my first thoughts this morning when my “first day” as District President began. So, of course, we took a photo! Here are a few things on my heart this morning:
As we sat down in their little living room Mr. Li said, “I want to ask you a question.” He grabbed my hand with his left, pointed at my white hair with his other, started laughing, and asked, “How old are you?” “61,” I answered. He was disappointed. He thought he had me. I was now the younger brother.
Mrs. Yang came rushing up to where we were sitting. She thought that we had left for Kunming without saying goodbye. She was dressed up, wearing beautiful embroidered slippers, a silk blouse, a little makeup on her cheeks, and a radiant smile on her face. She sat with LeeAnne and Jamie, our team members from Concordia International School, Shanghai and talked. During the conversation, Mrs. Yang, told the story, with a shy giggle, on how she had wooed her husband many years ago by getting dressed in her finest clothes, walking to where he was working on a road crew, and serenading him with a traditional Chinese love song. It worked. And then, without hesitation, she sang it. It was priceless.
Women from our congregation had made over 70 hand-crocheted shawls for us to give as Mother’s Day gifts to the women of the village. That afternoon we selected a shawl for Mrs. Yang and headed to her home to present it. It turned out that it was also Mrs. Yang’s birthday. Shortly after our entire team had settled in their living room they received a phone call from their daughter to wish her Mom a Happy Birthday. The way Mr. Li answered the call cracked us up! “We can’t talk to you right now. We have a house full of Americans.” We could just imagine his daughter’s response, “Dad, how much Baijiu have you had to drink today?”
“You can come to my house.”