Ahem.

If the talk turns to Thanksgiving, one of my daughters will invariably tell you the story of the time we were forced to eat Thanksgiving dinner in a McDonald’s. I think it sticks out in her childhood as being so glaringly the way it isn’t supposed to be, she just can’t help herself. Of course the part of the story she doesn’t tell you (without being prodded with a glare and an *ahem* from her mother) is that we were at that McDonald’s because we were going to Disneyland the next day, our flight had landed late on Thanksgiving evening and there wasn’t a thing in the world open. So we went to McDonald’s.

To me, that’s always seemed like a rather large part of the story to leave out. But for some reason, it’s not the first thing that comes to her mind.

That’s probably the way it is for God most of the time, too. He’s probably resisting the urge to glare and ahem at us all day long. We’re forever telling our stories and leaving out the parts that, to Him, seem rather important. We focus on the small bits that itch or chafe, irritate or trip us up instead of on the big picture in which it probably all fits pretty comfortably because things make a lot more sense.

I’m guessing that’s human nature, but it’s probably also a function of not having a very clear view of the big picture most days. We see minutes ahead and behind. If we squint hard, days. Whole years don’t tend to stay clear in our sight and an entire lifetime, taken at once, is really a blur when you’re running to the next stop. So it’s those minutes that seem wrong or hurt us that we remember. The sharp little pebbles in our shoes.

This Thanksgiving I’m going to find myself in Panama, at a beach resort, without all of my children. I’ve got two with me, but of course my thoughts are equally with the one who’s not here. Plus I can’t help wondering why on earth my life has taken me to Panama and yet continues asking me to feel at home. And why being together with my husband has become a luxury rather than the mundane. And why it seems like it’s been years since I’ve cooked a good ol’ Thanksgiving dinner surrounded by a large noisy crowd of the people I love.

I find myself with plenty of pebbles in my shoes these days, and yet if I stop to consider the whole story, my life is remarkably sweet indeed.

I’ve got a large cast of amazing characters in the drama, for one thing. Some have joined recently that I can’t imagine ever having gotten along without. I seem to keep encountering those types, and while they don’t replace the ones I’ve not been allowed to keep in an active role, they show up miraculously knowing their lines and keep the holes from gaping. I love more people than I ever imagined I could. Even if I can’t seem to get everyone in the roles I’d really like them to have, everyone does their parts so well, and usually right on cue. It all suggests that Someone Else must be directing my whole production.

I’ve got good health, and I get to run and walk and eat and worry and write about it all – basically, do the things I love to do – to my heart’s content.

I’ve got starkly beautiful desert taking my breath away daily out one window, and a gorgeous, teeming jungle to explore out the other. It’s all much more than I deserve.

My dad gently suggested to me the other day, right when I most deserved to hear it, that happiness isn’t having everything but rather believing that you do. Something like that.

Of course, it was the kind of thing that can make a kid roll her eyes but as usual, my eye roll was because he was exactly right. And he should know, since at this late stage I do believe he’s got that figured out. He’s completely satisfied with his McDonald’s meal, even if it falls on Thanksgiving. He never seems to forget there’s also been Disneyland, and he’s remembering to say thanks every day just for being allowed to be in the scene with any of his supporting cast around at all.  

He’s probably still looking at me wondering if I’ll ever actually get the story right, and it’s a valid concern. So I’ll just keep telling it in hopes that someday I do. 

-S.