Below, I share one of my favorite poems dealing with Thanksgiving.
It reminds me that when I truly try to count all my blessings, I will be overwhelmed,
because I won't be able to count it all.
My prayer for you, as you read this poem, and as you gather with family and friends tomorrow,
is that you are filled with that same sense...that your cup overflows, too.
"A Sacrament of Thanksgiving" by Howard Thurman
Today I make my Sacrament of Thanksgiving.
I begin with the simple things of my day:
Fresh air to breathe,
Cool water to drink,
The taste of food,
The protection of houses and clothes,
The comforts of home.
For these I make an act of Thanksgiving this day!
I bring to mind all the warmth of humankind that I have known:
My mother’s arms,
The strength of my father,
The playmates of my childhood,
The wonderful stories brought to me from the lives of
many who talked of days gone by when fairies and
giants and kinds of magic held sway,
The tears I have shed, the tears I have seen,
The excitement of laughter and the twinkle in the eye
with its reminder that life is good.
For all these I make an act of Thanksgiving this day.
I finger one by one the messages of hope that awaited me
at the crossroads:
The smile of approval from those who held in their hands
the reins of my security;
The tightening of the grip in a single handshake when I
feared the step before me in the darkness;
The whisper in my heart when temptation was fiercest
and the claims of appetite were not to be denied;
The crucial word said, the simple sentence from an open
page when my decision hung in the balance.
For all these I make an act of Thanksgiving this day.
I pass before me the mainsprings of my heritage:
The fruits of the labors of countless generations who
lived before me, without whom my own life would
have no meaning;
The seers who saw visions and dreamed dreams;
The prophets who sensed a truth greater than the mind
could grasp, and whose words could only find fulfillment
in the years which they would never see;
The workers whose sweat has watered trees, the leaves
of which are for the healing of the nations;
The pilgrims who set their sails for lands beyond all
horizons, whose courage made paths into
new worlds and far-off places;
The saviors whose blood was shed with a
recklessness that only a dream could inspire
and God could command.
For all these I make an act of Thanksgiving this day.
I linger over the meaning of my own life and the
commitment to which I give loyalty of my heart and mind:
The little purposes in which I have shared with my loves,
my desires, my gifs;
The restlessness which bottoms all I do with its stark insistence
that I have never done my best, I have never
reached for the highest;
The big hope that never quite deserts me, that I and my
kind will study war no more, that love and tenderness
and all the inner graces of Almighty affection will
cover the life of the children of God as waters
Cover the sea.
All these and more than mind can think and heart can feel,
I make as my sacrament of Thanksgiving to Thee,
Our God, in humbleness of mind and simplicity of heart.
