Seeing the beauty in the new harvest

New Chapter

At the beginning of each November, I always counted on a phone call from my grandfather, Big Mick, asking what my Thanksgiving plans were going to be. Mind you, in my 34 years my plans rarely changed and neither had his.

Long before any ingredients needed to be collected and recipes made, Big Mick wanted to know who would be seated at his table. And even though Thanksgiving was still weeks away, I would humor him. His anticipation was palpable. The joy that would inevitably come by having his family gathered, the sounds of a bustling house and the fun he had watching his great-grandchildren play.

As a little girl, I would spend the nights leading up to Thanksgiving at my grandparent’s house. I loved crumbling cornbread and peeling hard-boiled eggs for the cornbread dressing. And while I have the recipe now, I don’t know if I could carry it out as perfectly as my Nana. She never needed a recipe card or step-bystep instructions. She knew how to do it by heart, which you could taste in every bite.

In more recent years, my dad took over the duty of turkey prep. He was a master, and like everything else he did, his process was meticulous. Our family golf course would be closed on Thanksgiving Day, so Dad and my brothers would set up a row of turkey fryers under the awning of the golf cart barn. He would smoke and listen to the football games on the radio as he and my brothers kept an eye on the turkeys that always turned out golden and delicious.

On the surface, it doesn’t seem magical or perfect. Our gathering is always informal with the exception of the kids’ smocked dresses and longalls. Our table is set simply. In fact, my Nana’s fine china still has stickers on the bottom of some of its pieces. And our food is far from gourmet. The sweet potatoes come topped with jet-puffed marshmallows and we serve a pistachio and marshmallow salad affectionately named “green stuff.”

The saying is true, most of us don’t know what we have until it’s gone.

As time passes, traditions change.

There is a struggle to find our own new way as our hearts longingly pull us back to the warmth and comfort of what we’ve always known. Leading into this Thanksgiving in particular, I have wondered, “How do you find thanks when all you see are the empty chairs at your table?” Thanksgiving is a time set aside to give thanks for the blessings. A moment to pay tribute and reflect on our harvest from the preceding year.

With the passing of my grandfather and my dad, it is difficult to see the harvest. Not only do I miss the people I love, I miss the traditions I’ve always known. A season of my life has slipped away, and at times, it is challenging to see the good in what this preceding year has brought forth in my own life.

In a season meant for gratitude, where do you find thanks? For those who’ve lost jobs, lost homes, lost people, how do we break bread in the spirit of thanksgiving and truly mean it?

I have a faith reminding me that all things work together for good. In the face of death, suicide and a shifting family dynamic, I’ve continued to walk forward, harvesting a new perspective.

Four days after my dad died, I sat on the back row during the church service we normally attend. My son Grady’s baptism was scheduled for that Sunday, but in light of the circumstances we postponed. Most people didn’t think we would even be in church that day, but I simply didn’t know where else to go.

The music had been selected weeks in advance for that day, including a song called “Beautiful Things.” As the song started, I wept knowing this was God’s promise to me:

“All this pain

I wonder if I’ll ever find my way

I wonder if my life could really change at all All this earth

Could all that is lost ever be found

Could a garden come up from this ground at all

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of us

All around

Hope is springing up from this old ground

Out of chaos life is being found in You.”

It is hard to look beyond the empty chairs at the table and find promise in what remains. It is an act of faith to believe that good can come of it. But there is hope knowing something beautiful can be harvested in all circumstances.

Stephanie Jordan is a local journalist, marketer and blogger.

Her blog can be found at www.stephanienetherton.blogspot.com, and she can be contacted at [email protected].