On Thanksgiving

I'm propped up in bed, looking out the window of my parents' home in Tennessee. The dead leaves that are left still fall and scatter around making room for a river view. It's lovely, but we're sick and it feels like we have been for a very long time. I came back home to heal, to recuperate, to mend something that feels broken in me yet new struggles await us. Thanksgiving always seems to be this way. Heartache, loss, illness. Over the years, I can think of many somber holidays and this one was no different. It is very fitting, though, I think. When I'm down, I can recall when I was up. I can marvel at the gift of healthy bodies and minds and be thankful. I can look at the ashes around me and know they once were something whole. Then I remember that God makes beauty from ashes. 

This Thanksgiving my true self came knocking and I saw how ugly it can be. Selfish. Unhappy. Tired. Broken. Broken but not to the point of being unable to repair. With Thanksgiving, I wish you all happiness and holiness and all the things you seek, but if you're in a space like me, I wish you self-reflection and self-awareness while you're down. Sit with it awhile. Analyze it and be thankful.