The Grace That Makes Everyday Thanksgiving
It was Thanksgiving Eve and I was making dinner. Putting a roast chicken in the oven, scrubbing potatoes, when the frantic knock came at the door.
Through the glass I could see my neighbor, motioning frantically for me to hurry, hurry.
I open the door. She grabs it open and points at the sky. She says the ghetto bird is circling and I need to pull the kids off the street, you just don't know who might be prowling.
I look and see the police helicopter circling in the clear blue sky.
She's talking fast and frantic. She says she followed it all the way from the main road into our little suburb and why is it here? Why? And she says she left her ghetto neighborhood these months ago to get away from that bird, and why is it circling again? It's not supposed to be like this here.
She left that house and all the dark memories for a better life. That house where her firstborn died, where she almost did too, and it's not supposed to be like this here.
You expect these things in that neighborhood, but not here, she says.
The little boy next door hears and he says to me, "Remember when they broke into our house and stole our change jar?"
"Yes," I say.
"And how many times has your house been broken into?" he asks.
"Twice," I say.
Her mouth drops open.
"Here?" She says incredulously. That's not supposed to happen here. She says that she thought it would be different here. That the pain of all those memories would fade in a new house, a new place, a safe place.
I know, I know.
I want safe, too.
But the truth is that you can move to the suburbs, you can move to the farm, but there is only one safe place in this sin-tainted world, and that is in His arms.
And when your life in already there, hidden safely with Christ, you are home, that is the safest place to be.
And on this Thanksgiving Day, how do you give thanks for this broken world and these broken people and all this pain?
And how?
You start with grace.
You start by remembering that this broken place, it's not our home, and through there are joys here, this place was never meant to satisfy the longing.
And this place, it's never going to be safe. But even in the valley of the shadow of death, we can lie down and sleep in peace because we have a Good Shepherd watching over us.
And when your heart is already home in Christ, even death can't steal your deep down joy because death only takes us home to His arms.
And all thanksgiving it is meant to give thanks to this Good God, who gives us grace that we don't deserve, and makes a place for us at His table, even when the storms of this world rage.
Remembering His grace, it takes us safely home, and makes all and everything an opportunity for thanksgiving.
And Paul says, "And give thanks for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." Ephesians 5:20
This grace that was poured out for us on that bloody cross, that rent the heavens, and made a way for us to come home to the waiting Father.
This grace that makes everyday, Thanksgiving.
Through the glass I could see my neighbor, motioning frantically for me to hurry, hurry.
I open the door. She grabs it open and points at the sky. She says the ghetto bird is circling and I need to pull the kids off the street, you just don't know who might be prowling.
I look and see the police helicopter circling in the clear blue sky.
She's talking fast and frantic. She says she followed it all the way from the main road into our little suburb and why is it here? Why? And she says she left her ghetto neighborhood these months ago to get away from that bird, and why is it circling again? It's not supposed to be like this here.
She left that house and all the dark memories for a better life. That house where her firstborn died, where she almost did too, and it's not supposed to be like this here.
You expect these things in that neighborhood, but not here, she says.
The little boy next door hears and he says to me, "Remember when they broke into our house and stole our change jar?"
"Yes," I say.
"And how many times has your house been broken into?" he asks.
"Twice," I say.
Her mouth drops open.
"Here?" She says incredulously. That's not supposed to happen here. She says that she thought it would be different here. That the pain of all those memories would fade in a new house, a new place, a safe place.
I know, I know.
I want safe, too.
But the truth is that you can move to the suburbs, you can move to the farm, but there is only one safe place in this sin-tainted world, and that is in His arms.
And when your life in already there, hidden safely with Christ, you are home, that is the safest place to be.
And on this Thanksgiving Day, how do you give thanks for this broken world and these broken people and all this pain?
And how?
You start with grace.
You start by remembering that this broken place, it's not our home, and through there are joys here, this place was never meant to satisfy the longing.
And this place, it's never going to be safe. But even in the valley of the shadow of death, we can lie down and sleep in peace because we have a Good Shepherd watching over us.
And when your heart is already home in Christ, even death can't steal your deep down joy because death only takes us home to His arms.
And all thanksgiving it is meant to give thanks to this Good God, who gives us grace that we don't deserve, and makes a place for us at His table, even when the storms of this world rage.
Remembering His grace, it takes us safely home, and makes all and everything an opportunity for thanksgiving.
And Paul says, "And give thanks for everything to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." Ephesians 5:20
This grace that was poured out for us on that bloody cross, that rent the heavens, and made a way for us to come home to the waiting Father.
This grace that makes everyday, Thanksgiving.
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