Thanksgiving at the nursing home. I didn't expect much. My son, as I expected, spent the day with his wife's extended family (which involves 2-3 meals throughout the day.) The food would be good, but not the variety I'm used to. After all, state-mandated nutritional guidelines still apply, and they wouldn't have mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, rolls and stuffing all at the same meal.
Was I ever wrong. On Wednesday night, I expected canned soup and cold cuts. Instead, we had oven-fried chicken with carrot cake. Ten people crowded around my table. We represented four generations: from our 87-year-old Calling bird to me to our 30-something paraplegic to her 10-year-old daughter.
The meal was everything a Thanksgiving meal should be. There were tears, there was laughter. There were memories shared and friendship and, I dare even say, love flowed among us. We sang songs of praise. By the time the meal ended, we all knew we had been blessed.
In fact, one man said it was the best Thanksgiving he had had for ten years. For me, it was easily the best Thanksgiving since Jolene died, four and a half years ago.
Jaran and Jordan showed up for a visit Wednesday afternoon as well. That made the day more precious than ever.
All day Thursday we basked in the memory of that meal. We knew we had seen a glimpse of what heaven might be like.
***Normal giveaway schedule resumes this week: 1 book given away for every five comments. Please answer the following question in your comment: What single thing are you the most thankful for? I also must have your email address to send you notification.**