From Our Home to Yours
Having Spent almost as many Thanksgivings off American soil as on, you'd think I'd get used to it. But maybe it's something we never get used to.
I miss home. I miss that Holdiay feeling in the air. I miss my parents and my sister and my growing-to-fast-without-enough-visits nieces and nephews. I miss my college age son spending Thanksgiving with his family-to-be. I miss that it isn't a day off but a regular work day with regular work to do. No matter the Holiday Hoopla I conjure up, I still miss a real Thanksgiving.
But it is now, when I sense something is missing, that I know I've missed God's heart. It's not about food or family, it's not about decorations or ambiance. It's not even about togetherness or special memories.
It's about my heart seeking God's heart. It's about quiet moments of peace and peace admits the chaos. It's about choosing contentment and counting blessings. It's about surrendered souls. It's about 365 days a year of thankfulness, in any country, in any situation.
