On giving thanks.

It’s not a holiday celebrated all over the world, but as we set the table and strung up our newly made Thanksgiving banner, I realized that it should be.

We should be giving thanks, and not just once a year, but regularly. I considered this as I walked around picking up toys and books and straightening up our house. Why are we safe? We had nothing to do with where we were born – we didn’t choose Canada, we just lucked out. Our children are not hungry. They are not uneducated. They are not sold into sexual slavery. They’re not being captured and trained as soldiers.

Decked out in his Thanksgiving finest.

Why are we safe? Our water is clean; it will not kill us if we drink or wash with it. Our grocery stores are stocked. Our bank accounts have money in them. We hosted not one, but two Thanksgiving dinners. We were able to sit around and leisurely enjoy the meal, and the dessert, and the wine. No one drove a tank up the middle of our street, or dropped a bomb on our neighbourhood.

Why are we safe? I’m listening to the radio. They’re interviewing a man who experienced torture for associating with the “wrong” people in Latin America. I quickly tap the power button as he begins describing being strapped naked to a table and having his testicles shocked with electricity. But it’s too late; my five year old has heard. Wide-eyed, he asks: “Why would anyone do that to a man, Mama?” I have no answer, so I hug him and tell him we, who are blessed with much, must never stop caring and striving to help those who have nothing, not even their freedom.

I’m anxious as I think about what I cannot do to help those who have little to be thankful for… There has to be something, and I have to find it soon. But what I will not do is take this for granted, any of it. It’s a gift, an abundant gift, and I will carry around thanks in my heart for it, always.