THIS THANKSGIVING I’m home alone with three dogs.
Our daughter’s family will be out of town, visiting her husband’s side of the clan, which is why I’ll have two extra dogs.
Our son will be doing the same, with his wife’s parents and the associated in-laws.
My wife will be sleeping off an overnight 12-hour shift, after pulling nurse duty at the hospital.
So I was expecting a quiet Thanksgiving.
Now I have no idea what to expect.
Risks of listening in church
I was sitting in church last Sunday, minding my own business, when one of the pastors said they needed people to prepare a Thanksgiving meal for some kids at a local center for kids who’ve had a tough life.
Yeah, I’m not doing that.
Then the pastor said they need 10 servers.
Uh oh. I could do that.
Should I?
Well, I’m available.
But do I want to?
I’m not sure how much that matters this close to Thanksgiving. They need 10 servers.
Well, I could go look at the signup list after church and see if they got 10 yet.
And since my wife is volunteering in the kid’s ministry, I could go there first and ask her permission. By the time I get out of there, most people will have left the building.
I eventually got to the list.
There may have been about three or four names scribbled in there.
I scribbled mine because, as I said, I was available.
Maybe I’m available for a reason. Who knows?
If anyone knows, I know who knows.
But I don’t know if it was his idea.
What I know is this. I was paying attention when the pastor spoke, which is not always the case. And there was an unspoken voice inside my head adding its two cents, with two words: “You’re available.”
I’ve never served a meal to strangers on a major holiday. I’m usually with family and friends.
Our Bible study group prepares and serves meals to hungry folks a couple of Saturdays a year. I find it tough to watch the kids coming in there.
So I’m not sure how it’ll go on Thursday, watching kids eating a Thanksgiving meal with the likes of me serving them.
I’m pretty sure I’ll think they deserve better.
Neighbor with a pumpkin pie
I’m typing this article, and I look out my upstairs home-office window. There she comes up the cul-de-sac, a neighbor gal still in high school. She’s carrying a huge pie. Not a normal-sized pie. If someone hit you in the face with this pie, it would knock you over.
I got to the door before she rang the bell. If Buddy the Dog heard the doorbell, he would bark that young lady back into last Tuesday.
She handed me the massive pumpkin pie and said, “This is for you, for being a good neighbor, for buying my fundraising cookies and for cleaning the snow off our driveway.”
“Well thank you,” I said. “You’re a good neighbor, too.”
Maybe she had a pie available.
I don’t know if I’m a good neighbor, though I know which neighbor not to ask.
But I know that when this young lady said I was good for something, it made me feel like I was.
I’m going to try to remember that when I’m serving lunch on Thursday.
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