Across the pond the sun is just beginning to peek over the tops of the pines; hot tea in my hands, I watch the wind blow through the branches. The house is quiet, the proverbial calm before the storm of roasting turkey and mashing potatoes, before the Macy’s day parade and a gathering of friends. This same sun will rise on those I love far away. I must hold in tension the longing to have everyone gathered, as my friends say, “all their chicks in the nest,” and the desire to have them live their own lives bringing light and love where they find themselves.
I’m thankful, of course, for the children still nestled in their beds here, but for those who are grown I must make room in my heart for their journeys. These are the days, when only part of the family is gathered, that I feel a quiet ache at the center of my soul; I want to weep when someone asks, “Is everyone coming home for Thanksgiving?” My mind argues, ”How can they make the trip, living on the west coast and their lives beckoning them to stay?” And then my heart cries, “How dare they not come home to be with us, laughing, arguing, baking, playing, talking, bickering?”
I’m grateful for the gift of silence this morning, to quietly look into my heart and see how much sorrow there is that we are not all gathered at one table, but then to be able to give thanks for the lives that have been given to us to nurture and bless, sometimes from a distance. This sun that pours over my books and dining room table will rise on them as well and with this I will learn to be content.
Missing someone today?
Medicine from Sacred Writings:
“God gives great gifts, procuring abundant harmony and love, that each one standing in need of the other might be brought closer to his brother.”
John Chrysostom Fourth Century
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