Feast of Gratitude

Recently I said to my family, “If I cannot be happy, then it is not possible for anyone on earth to be happy."  I am blessed with faith, family and eternal blessings.  For me to be ungrateful would be a sin. 

And so, as part of my Thanksgiving feast, I give thanks to my Father in Heaven for his delicious plan of happiness, my Savior, and the opportunity to be a part of his kingdom on earth.  I have tasted the sweet savor of the Atonement and partaken of the beauty and covenants of the temple.  

I have been given heaping servings of love from my family.  Other delicious delicacies that are part of my feast are freedom, education, transportation, communication, health and property.  Next to me is the companionship of the Holy Ghost.  And the table keeps enlarging with more and more to partake, so much that it cannot be taken in, and I am left to sit and stare at dishes filled to overflowing.

Memory Table

Buying a kitchen table years ago, was a major decision.  I knew that whatever I bought, it would have to last a lifetime, because I consider it a permanent fixture in my home.  It was a major financial purchase, and it needed to be just right, to fit within our limited space, yet provide the maximum comfort for our growing family.  I shopped for several weeks, and actually bought and returned two tables, until I found one I was happy with.

It was an expandable oak table on a heavy pedestal.  Now, we had a beautiful place where all of us could enjoy our meals together.  Here we sat with our children, doing homework, projects, playing games, and visiting.   It would have been interesting to record all the stories that have been told, or all the jokes we have laughed at, while eating french toast and bacon or roast beef and potatoes.

At first I worried that the surface would get damaged with sharp pencils, markers or scissors.  I wondered how to feel when I saw the first flaw.  Then, an idea occurred to me that helped me enjoy those possibilities.  I decided that each flaw or chip would heighten the memories I had, spending time with my family.  I realized that each ding, or scrape could be transformed into a specific event and memory that would become precious.  Like looking at an interesting piece of antique furniture, and imagining what kind of a life it had lived, I started looking forward to what stories my table, or for that matter, other items in my home might tell, through their imperfections.