Thanksgiving, Thursday, November 22, 2007

Quite the motley crew gathered around our dining room table for Thanksgiving Dinner. A father, a mother and three children, an abandoned mother, the victim of Satan’s hurtful deceit and the daughter who is marked with the scars of Satan’s vice, and a young man, an orphan in all but name. Together, in Christ, we were one family.

Lydia and I co-composed a song in honor of our Secret Penguin Friend, Nicholas Perry himself. All day long the bouncy tune for “The March of the Penguin” rang out, usually accompanied by our off-key rendition “It’s Thanksgiving, it’s Thanksgiving, Nick is coming here. It’s Thanksgiving, it’s Thanksgiving, rouse and give a cheer!” Trite or not, the pride Nick took in it made it truly worth the very little effort we put into it.

Actually, it was a very pleasant day. After dinner we adjourned to the living room where we fooled around on the piano, mostly rendering discordant, though creative, versions of Nick’s song, being goofy and just laughing. When Amber and her mom left near five, they thanked us profusely for inviting them. I'm hoping to spend some more time with Amber.

“Welchy” joined us in the evening, with his gun in tote. He’s planning to make use of our woods, our deer and our freezer, and my dad’s only hoping he gets more venison than he can eat, so that we’ll have a stock as well.

Jonathan Lindvall graced our home as well, by virtue of a cassette tape. Papa whisked out a new one on the topic of competitive sports and we gathered around the table to listen. It was some pretty heavy material. Is it possible to play competitive sports and still “love your enemy” or “prefer one another” or “look out for the interests of others”? Poor Zach, our coach in training, took notes until his paper smoked, and then asked question after question. Inside he wrestled with the topic, holding it in every possible light, trying to decide what his practical application should be. The Lord really seems to be tearing everything away from him and I can see in his eyes how lost he is feeling, but the Lord is faithful. If he takes it away, it’s only because He’s got better things in mind. I hate seeing my buddy Zach so beat up, and sometimes it’s painful for me not be able to write him an encouraging note or really even say as much as I’d like to. But our Comforter is more eloquent than I could ever be, and I will leave it in His capable hands.

Lord, Thou said for me to weep

For those who find the pathway steep

And Lord, Thou said for me to pray

For all who stagger in the way.

And Lord, Thou givest me a love

For those writ in Thy book above.

I want to offer healing grace--
But then I would usurp Thy place.

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