So yesterday in Sunday School class, I asked the children, “What are you thankful for?” Immediately, Mahri (age 6) responded in a barely-over-a-whisper voice, “Baby Sami.” 

Oh, yes. Even though Baby Sami only lived for six days last May and never got to come home from the hospital, he will forever hold a special place in the hearts of Mahri, his three other sisters, his two brothers, his Mommy and Daddy (our daughter Amy and her husband Hoyt), his Grammy and Papa and other family members. Baby Sami changed our lives. Experiencing the death of a longed-for newborn was heartbreaking; knowing he awaits us in heaven has changed our perspective on the meaning of life. And thankfully, we have learned first-hand that indeed we do not grieve as those who have no hope. Thank you, Lord, for sending Baby Sami to us.

It is a good and delightful thing to give thanks to the Lord; to sing praises to Your name, O Most High, to declare your lovingkindness in the morning and your faithfulness by night. Psalms 92:1-2 

My oldest sister Elizabeth lives in Dayton, Ohio. We do not see each other but once a year or so, but we talk on the phone frequently. The last time I visited her, she allowed me to choose some books from her vast library and one has become a favorite. The Basket of Flowers written in the 18th century by Christoph von Schmid and republished by Lamplighter Publishing in 1997 is so extraordinarily well-written that it takes my breath away. The story of a widower, James, and his only living daughter, Mary (who is about 20 years of age at the time), includes this narrative from the chapter, The Shadow of Grief:

The physician came, and after he had seen the patient, Mary walked with him as far as the door, to ask if he had any hope of her father’s recovery. The physician answered that he was in no immediate danger, but that his disease was of such a nature, that, at his age, he could not be expected to recover. Unable to speak, and with tears flooding her eyes, a sad foreboding seized her mind. She knew that her father had prepared her for this day – but though a glorious change for him – an unspeakable loss to Mary – a loss that seemed too great to be realized. At last, she exerted her self-command, dried her tears, and endeavored to appear calm before she went to her father, for fear of distressing him.

Mary nursed her father with all the care that a good daughter could bestow on a most beloved parent. She could read in his eyes all that he wanted. She watched whole nights near his bed, and it was only after much persuasion that she would consent to take any rest.

Mary’s love for her father was real, and overcame her love of self. Her affection was shown, not by useless tears, but by active exertions for his comfort. Prepared with the most delicate attention, Mary served the food which best suited him; she skillfully arranged his pillows, read to him, and prayed with him continually. She watched his every look, that she might anticipate his wishes. She often passed the night watching by his pillow; and many a weary hour her busy fingers worked to gain enough money to procure for him the little comforts that he needed.”*

This beautiful description of Mary’s caregiving prowess touched my heart and I hope it will bless you as well. Lord, thank you for the many excellent caregivers who give themselves so generously to their recipients. Thank you also for noble books and sisters who bestow them. 

In 1989, our family was spending our first Thanksgiving in Brooklyn, New York. We had moved into a basement apartment (with bars on the front windows and a mini-concrete backyard) the preceding December to serve as urban missionaries in the inner city neighborhood of Red Hook. In March 1988, our youngest daughter Emily was born. So, it was the six of us around our dining table – Randy, me, Benjamin, Rachel, Amy and baby Emily. One of the ladies who supported our ministry had sent us a check for $25 to purchase our Thanksgiving dinner (yes, it was enough!) To thank her, we wanted to send a photo of our family with our feast. Previous Thanksgiving had been celebrated with extended family, buffet style. The children had never seen a whole uncarved golden turkey on a platter in the center of the table. Amy was a little started by the sight of the entire intact bird. Looking ahead to Christmas, when our tradition was to serve roast beef, her eyes widened and she gasped, “At Christmas are you going to put the whole cow on the table?” We still get a good laugh out of that.

Father in heaven, thank you for Thanksgivings past, present and future. May we always make this day one of sincere thanks to you for all you have done for us. 

Come, ye thankful people, come 
Raise the song of harvest home
All is safely gathered in 
Ere the winter storms begin
God our Maker doth provide 
For our needs to be supplied
Come, ye thankful people, come 
Raise the song of harvest home.
 - Henry Alford (1810-1871) 

*Used by permission, Lamplighter Publishing.