Home and Thanksgiving day are a priceless combination! The smells of turkey roasting, yeast rolls rising and all the fancy dishes touch the heartstrings. My children especially like the crystal dish filled with cranberry sauce, spiced peaches and olives. We even have a tradition that's strange but fun. Those who love to eat whole spiced peaches try to be the first one to drop the seed into the plate, hoping it will make a funny  sound... "ker-plunk"!
 
Around the heavy-laden table, after we have eaten our fill, we push our plates back and remember times past. The first funny story is usually about a sermon that turned us into a few muffled gigglers. When the children were young and we were visiting at a community Thanksgiving church service the preacher was very dramatic as he began.
 
Standing straight and tall he announced, "This worship service is about more than Thanksgiving - it is about ThanksLIVING." The children got tickled as he increased his volume each time he stressed the word LIVING. It is a funny memory but it has deep significance as we share our lives.
 
We ask each other what part of living have we been thankful for since the last Thanksgiving. We immediately name our homes that are warm and safe. The adult children talk of the birth of their children and we thank them for our grandchildren. 
 
However, there came a year when one child had been through a divorce. Their home was what some may call "broken" and tears flowed as we all shared the pain. But a heartwarming idea came to us during our conversation that day.
 
Yes, divorce seems to be running rampant these days. But those families do not need to be "broken." If each member is still alive, their days are spent in different houses as they visit mom or dad. In fact we decided that those families are just "re-arranged." Yes, re-arranged! That sounds better than broken.
 
I spied a framed poem sitting on the bookcase nearby and knew this was the time to share it. Our grandson Cory, whose parents had gotten the divorce, wrote it a few years before, when he was nine. He wrote about me; the love of a little child is so evident and refreshing:

"My Memama smells very good and she says that I always should
Pray everyday so that bad things will stay away.
My Memama likes to watch the news.  My Memama loves to snooze.
My Memama's cooking smells so good,  I eat it all up like I should..
She always hugs me really tight - and calls me sweet ole' cutie pie.
I miss my Memama everyday.  When I go to her house I want to stay.
But I can't because my Mom will say, ‘Come home, Cory, come home!'
And this is the end of my sad ole' story."

Our laughter and hugs, after the reading of that poem, will never be forgotten. Then we read some scripture that ushers in our joy because we have each other"