I say it every Thanksgiving. To someone. To anyone. I repeat the story every year somewhere. Sometimes it’s at a women’s retreat, or a breakfast bible study. Sometimes it’s over coffee with a friend. Sometimes I’m saying it to my mother. Sometimes I’m writing it.
I am a repeat thanksgiving offender.
I am in good company.
It’s how many times God mentions thankfulness…gratefulness.
Do this…Be this. Seventy three times.
God… on repeat.
Some things we know, but most things we don’t. I knew when I was awakened at four o’clock in the morning thirty three Thankgivings ago that my womb was about to be broken through for the first time. I just didn’t know it was the beginning of repeat thanksgivings for the rest of my life.
The moment we are born we are given a death sentence. Even our conception begins in brokenness.
When our lungs gulp air and we wail our first cry, we are already condemned. It really is the first day of the rest of our lives. We come out of a dark womb into a dark world. We may perceive light for the first time, but it is not the Light of the world we are looking at.
It was the same for the boy. He didn’t know, we didn’t know, that the dark world of missing enzymes and metabolic mis-firing were lurking in shadow.
We didn’t know in a few months there would be a collision with the One whom there is no shifting shadow.
Imagine. So much Light there is no room for shadow. Nothing stands in the way of this kind of Light.
Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow.
When Light comes, darkness turns tail and runs.
When good, really smart doctors say to prepare for the worst, they don’t know what Light can do.
So the story gets told again. The Drummer turns thirty three today because the Father of Lights gives good gifts and shadow has no say in that.
Today. My thanksgivings upon Thanksgiving.
Really smart, good people don’t know everything.
Turns out they didn’t know about all the thanksgivings that were about to unfold.
They didn’t know about the little girl that would come. The one who dances in the Light.
They didn’t know that Light always has the last word.