the turkey was on fire!

We had a smorgasbord of people at our house for Thanksgiving. International couples, five small children, married couples, single ladies (ahem, me). It was great. But probably the best part was right before we sat down to eat. The children had gone through the line---

which, side note, it's still foreign to me to not be considered a child. So, let that be said when it comes time to recite the four questions at Passover. I don't go through the dinner line with my parents holding my hand. I don't stand up and sing Ma nishtana. That's how life works.

---and they were sitting innocently at the table gnawing on Turkey legs and other tasty nom noms that my Mom prepared. And all of a sudden a small voice cries out, "Fire! Fire!" My first thought: "Sweet! He's never seen a fireplace before." Luckily, we had some Moms and Dads on the scene to realize, rather logically, that the 9-year-old was holding a FLAMING paper Turkey centerpiece. I responded approximately 45 seconds too late with a towel and a cup of water.

My rationale: Never mind the fire extinguisher! I'm going to put this sucker out with a dish towel and 4 oz of water!

Into the fireplace went the flaming Gobbler.
Into the tummy went the food.

And there was plenty of reflection.

In our dining room, the windows face the street. I imagine that looking in at the tableux of family and turkey fare would be rather Norman Rockwell-esque. It struck me as I sat cozily between the 80 year old and the 9 year old that I was dang thankful to be on the inside and happy to report that the feeling was just as warm and delightful as it would appear from the street, because of Jesus' love.

There was a gentle gnawing that started on Tuesday night, that I haven't really let turn into much of anything just yet- I'd rather have not thought about it. But when we went around the table saying what we were thankful for, the same thing poked me in the little soft spot in my heart:

Why wasn't my salvation the the first conscious thankful thought in my head?

I got choked up talking about my parents and everything that they do, their marriage, their ministry, their parenting, their friendship (here I go again...) but then when someone mentioned Salvation and we all nodded enthusiastically, even in my whole hearted agreement, my eyes were drier than a matzoh ball soup from a south Florida deli.

Why doesn't this thankfulness, this eternal gratitude and indebtedness that I have not translate into water works?
I'm still pondering it. But I want it to be there.

This love is real.