Giving thanks

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. Well, that’s probably not very honest, since I’m sure when I was little the toys to look forward to at Christmas and the candy that went along with Halloween trumped a glorified dinner of turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce. But growing up has made Christmas more stressful than exciting and Halloween has become more about costume-themed hedonism—fun, but not my favorite. So for the past I don’t know how long, Thanksgiving has been my favorite holiday. This morning we went to a Thanksgiving mass and the priest led off with a story about a man who told him that Thanksgiving was his favorite holiday, because it was “just so… non-denominational!” That earned the laugh from the congregation that the priest had been aiming for, but he continued on about how, denominational or not, Thanksgiving is the very core of the Christian tradition—and perhaps all religions. This struck me as quite profound, because I had never considered Thanksgiving a particularly religious holiday either, but giving thanks is also the easiest part of religion for me to understand. Humans have probably always been at a bit of a loss at how to handle good fortune, and I think this might motivate our spirituality as much as if not more than fear of death or the desire to place hope in something bigger than ourselves. When wonderful things befall us, there is just this innate need to thank someone or something. We don’t really know what else to do with ourselves. That’s one of the more impressive elements of the human condition, the ability to recognize good fortune and feel gratitude, even if we don’t know who to thank exactly.

So what are we thankful for this year? My sister had everyone take a turn around the table answering that question last year, and I liked that exercise, and thought it should become a part of our own family’s tradition. So this year, at our pre-Thanksgiving harvest feast that we shared with some dear friends this past Sunday, I invoked the same mandate, and we all took a moment to reflect and share. Last year, we had just put an offer on the house and were waiting to hear if it had been accepted. We were taking our first step toward adulthood as a married couple, with some major financial support from our parents, and thus had plenty to be thankful for (and made sure to thank our parents excessively, because this was one of those rare cases where we did know who exactly was the source of our good fortune). I didn’t think we’d be able to top 2007 in giving thanks. And yet, here is 2008, having not only gotten the house in the great neighborhood (for a steal, at that!), but discovering that this neighborhood is even greater than we thought it was, and that we can grow things in our garden to feed ourselves, and that we will soon have our own little perfect person to share all of it with. Quite the bookends we’ve placed on 2008: our first home in January and a baby in December. But that seems too easy, like saying “I’m thankful for my family” or “I’m thankful for good things happening to me.” Of course we’re thankful for these things. Dig a little deeper.

Danny thought about it, and decided he was thankful for fertility—both ours and our garden’s, and the broader world’s. Thankful that we were able to conceive a child that we actually planned for with minimal effort, when there are so many people out there that want a baby and can’t have one or are faced with having one they don’t want. Thankful that the earth bears fruit, that even after 50 years of sitting under concrete our backyard can still produce cartons of tomatoes and pumpkins, and that we are only beginning to scratch the surface. Thankful, indeed, that the earth supports us and all of life with enough apparent resilience that we haven’t managed to completely wreck it yet. I liked that answer. I am thankful for our fertility, and for the baby I am about to meet. But right at this moment, I am thankful for the opportunity to experience pregnancy, which has shown me more about humanity than I would have ever expected.

Strangers have been stopping me on the street to tell me I look beautiful, or that God blesses us both, or just to congratulate me with a warmth that makes the world seem a little smaller, like they’re not strangers after all but in fact part of my community, like somehow carrying a baby breaks down these barriers that people walking down the street usually erect between each other. Neighbors have been flooding us with baby-related items, so much so that we haven’t had to buy a single thing ourselves in preparation, in a beautiful voluntary redistribution of wealth that makes giving and receiving seem so simple. Friends and family have already pledged their unwavering support, both in planning their visits upon the baby’s arrival and in imagining with us the joys we are about to collectively experience in the years to come. I thought having a baby was this personal thing that a couple shared with each other as an expression of love, and that’s moving enough in itself. But what I had not expected, what is perhaps even more moving, is this outpouring of love and generosity bestowed upon us and our baby-to-be by our community. I feel very fortunate to have been given a glimpse of just how powerful a force that is.