Ah, Thanksgiving – food, family, friends, football games, and the full-out explosion of Christmas. For those celebrating in the North, it is also the beginning of consistently crisp air (translation for my Southern friends: constant cold as all get out).
I’ll never forget our Thanksgivings (yes, Thanksgivings) the first year we moved to Canada.
New friends quickly educated us about the differences between the two Thanksgivings: different dates, basically the same food. Granted, Canadians like their mashed turnips, and Americans like sweet potato casserole. Side note to my current social circle: I’m having difficulty picturing the Pilgrims eating macaroni and cheese (just sayin’).
Having celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving in October, the American holiday was just another day for us. I realize that the news that Canada doesn’t have all of the same holidays as the States is a new concept for some of you.
Hang with me for more startling facts from beyond one’s borders.
Anyway, it was around 3:27 PM on the American Thanksgiving, November 27, 1980, in Oshawa, Ontario. Looking up from my very narrow and uncomfortable bed, I could see windows high above me and to the left. There, just outside the delivery room where I had given birth to our first beautiful daughter moments earlier, delicate white snowflakes were drifting down.
Before long, I was wheeled into a room while my young husband went to call our families. To my surprise, a nurse popped in to say I had a call at the nurse’s station. This was, of course, pre-cell phones. Putting on my robe, I padded off to a little side room to hear my parents congratulating me. In the background, I could hear the laughter and voices of everyone else in my family shouting things like, “A girl!!,” “Woohoo,” and “Love you, sis!”
And I cried.
My whole family was there having fun without me, and I was all alone. Thousands of miles away. Well, not thousands, and not all alone, but that’s how I felt.
Such is a homesick hormonal heart.
Of course, then I felt horrible. Who cries after having a baby because they’d rather have turkey with their family? I could be wrong, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I’m not the first young mother who has dissolved into tears after many hours of labor and pain.
We took our tiny bundle home, and the rhythm of life continued. The following year, we celebrated Thanksgiving in October and enjoyed being able to focus on our little girl’s birthday in November. Two weeks before her third birthday, at an annual preaching conference, we attended in another city, I went to the pay phone conveniently located in one of the church coat rooms and called my parents.
The test results were back – my dad had cancer. The doctors were hopeful. This type of cancer was pretty easy to treat. We would beat this—I was sure.
Except I wasn’t.
Sensing my unspoken fear, my husband suggested we head to Michigan and surprise my family for the American Thanksgiving. Before he could have any second thoughts, I was packed and ready to go. We pulled up the long driveway several hours later to my parent’s old two-storied white house. Oh, the jubilation when, to everyone’s surprise, we walked in the door!
I had told myself that we were going to encourage my parents. The greater truth was that I was going for me. You see, just five short weeks before the call about my beloved father’s cancer, I had sat in a hospital by the bedside of my dearest friend—and watched her take her last breath.
Five weeks wasn’t enough time for my soul to absorb her loss. Surely, God would not take my precious daddy, too. I longed to be told that everything was going be all right.
I needed to feel my father’s arms around me.
What a wonderful time we had. If you have never been around the Phillips family, I will let you in on a fact. We can be loud. We talk. We laugh. We sing.
Food and love flowed, kids ran around with non-stop motion, football games blared, and, finally, the men napped while the women sat around the kitchen table, hot cups of tea in hand, laughing together.
Sometimes, our hearts are filled with too much uncertainty to see the many gifts of grace that surround us.
Even as I write, tears fill my eyes. Which is something else we do well.
We cry.
Less than a year later, we sat around my father in an upstairs bedroom. His body was withered and ravaged by an enemy that couldn’t be stopped. Lying in a coma, every breath was punctuated by a crackling rattle. A cassette tape, lovingly put together by the church volunteer sound technician, played softly in the background. Favorite hymns and various family specials drifted through the air. In what could only be seen as a gift of God’s grace, my father’s recorded voice began to sing his favorite hymn. Together, one by one, we joined as his rich baritone led us one final time.
“In lovingkindness Jesus came my soul in mercy to reclaim.
And from the depths of sin and shame in love He lifted me!
From sinking sand He lifted me! With tender hand He lifted me!
From shades of night to plains of light, Oh, praise His name, He lifted me.” [1]
We sang as we had learned to do as a family, and as we did, we watched his body rest in complete, perfect peace. The battle was over. He was meeting His Savior, and a holy stillness filled the room.
The cancer had been painfully torturous. In the end, we had asked the Lord to please take him home, home where there would be no more pain.
Nearly forty years have passed since then. Years filled with many Thanksgivings. More importantly, years filled with giving thanks.
Sometimes, circumstances surrounding a holiday hold a hush of holiness we don’t see until later. As years pass, we learn that gratitude isn’t just about joy and laughter.
True thanksgiving isn’t seen through circumstances,
true thanksgiving is seen through the cross.
Looking through our circumstances can blind us to God’s goodness. Looking through the cross, we can only see God’s goodness.
In sorrow, we see how He weeps with us. In amazement, we see how His sacrifice lifts our guilt and shame. In desperation and fear, we see how He gave everything He had to meet our deepest needs. In fear, we see His courage, love, and ultimate power.
Maybe most importantly, we see eternity, and in seeing the riches that are in store for us, we see that we can trust Him today.
How, then, can we not give Him thanks daily?
Let me be clear: I am more than looking forward to eating all the turkey, dressing, potatoes, and pies I can over the next few days. This Thanksgiving will bring even more precious memories to be grateful for, but—
It’s the last Thanksgiving that I am waiting for.
The one where I feel my Father’s arms around me.
The one where I will see my Savior’s face.
The one where I know we will finally all be home.
[1] Gabriel, Charles H., 1905
What a beautiful post. Thank you for sharing some painful memories all the while offering hope to your readers. Hope of that final Thanksgiving…the one with our Heavenly Father. What a day that will be! Happy Thanksgiving, my friend!
My sweet friend, isn’t that the truth? Thanksgiving with our heavenly Father will truly be the sweetest time ever! I’m so glad my post gave you that hope and reminder!
I remember when I had just returned to NYC for my second year of teaching at a Christian school, when my brother called to tell me Gwen had passed. I was heartbroken. My father put me on the first plane back to MI. I remember my first night back home, heavily walking up the steps leading into the funeral home, dreading every steps closer to Gwen’s casket. Then you caught eye of me and took me to her lifeless side, Melissa. It was so hard to see our precious friend, encourager she always was, now with the Lord. We hugged and cried as those still left behind.. Then as I turned around I heard and saw your Dad. He welcomed me with such kindness as he always did, and asked if I would sing at Gwen’s funeral. Without hesitation, I said yes. It was an honor. The gym at Faithway was filled with hundreds of people. I sang, “I wonder have I done my best for Jesus” as I was told that was Gwen’s favorite song. It was no doubt she had given 100% for her Savior, and now she was home. As I traveled back to NYC, still trying to absorb her loss, It wasn’t long beforeI heard of your Dad’s diagnosis of cancer. He was your Dad, but he was also a Dad to many of us, so the shock was enormous for me. I had spent many precious times at the Phillips’s home around the family and Dr. Phillips. But I saw that crazy side of him as wetraveled for the college trio. Dr. Phillips was quite humorous and a joy to be around. Obviously, we were all praying that Dr. Phillips would be healed, but it was soon clear the Lord would take him home, just like Gwen. I received a call from your Mom to come to the house after I had been home that summer from NYC. Your Dad wanted to see me. He loved the song, “More love to thee, Oh Christ”. As I approached his bedside, this giant of a man, friend, asked if I would sing him this song and all the verses. Balled up in pain, he listened as I sang. It was a day I realized God had given me my ability to sing for His glory for both Gwen and Dr. Phillips. I learned later from Chuck, that last song was the meat of his last sermon. Chuck had just come to Faithway College and was privileged to have Gwen for his speech teacher, and one year under Dr.. Phillips preaching before coming ill. He had the blessing of hearing Dr. Phillips last sermon which he said to his congregation,” If I could do anything over again, I would have loved you more.” Dr. Phillips did love us. His words of love and sound advice still speak to me, despite many years of his passing. .The Lord gave me so much to be Thankful for in those 8 almost 9 years I knew your father.. What an impact he made on my life and my husband’s, and thousands of others. For that many of us are forever grateful . Thank you, Melissa, for reminding us of your wonderful father, our pastor and friend, so deeply missed in our hearts, whom I so look forward to seeing in heaven one day.
What beautiful memories, Pam. Truly God gave you a voice that you have used for His glory and the good of many, many others! Thank you for sharing.
Melissa, what a beautiful post. I loved this part
In sorrow, we see how He weeps with us. In amazement, we see how His sacrifice lifts our guilt and shame. In desperation and fear, we see how He gave everything He had to meet our deepest needs. In fear, we see His courage, love, and ultimate power.
And I really enjoyed the pictures! I’ll show them to Dennis later.
And the part about the Thanksgiving meal with Him! Brought to mind the song “Come and Dine.”
Linda, I am so encouraged that it lifted your spirits. Your favorite part is also my favorite part, and why did I not think of “Come and Dine?” Yes, it fits perfectly – “Come and dine,” the Master calleth, “Come and dine”;You may feast at Jesus’ table all the time;He Who fed the multitude, turned the water into wine,To the hungry calleth now, “Come and dine.” (Charles B. Widmeyer, 1907).
What a fabulous story/blog/post/testimony…not sure what to call things these days. I saw it in my inbox but I didn’t want to read it when I was in a hurry. Some things are meant to be savoured and your writing is one of those things. I always look forward to reading what you have written.
True thanksgiving isn’t seen through circumstances,
True thanksgiving is seen through the cross.
That really is the key to not becoming bitter…so good!
Keep up the good work and God Bless!
Thank you for stopping in, Greg! Truly, gratitude is the golden shovel that has dug me out of many pits! Happy Thanksgiving time, again!