Reservations Not Required

I get more than my fair share of invitations this time of year - single people seem to generate a need in others to reach out and share family holiday times. I always appreciate the gestures, they're sincere and well meant and kind, but I always say no. I'm happiest sleeping the day away and not being reminded of my own family dinners - the pleasant ones at my grandmother's are almost too fuzzy to remember and the ugly ones are too clear to forget. I don't really relate very well to happy, loving families, football games and afternoon naps - my preference is solitude and quiet and sleep - and maybe some warmed up red beans and rice.

I give thanks for today, for the roof over my head, the animals in my bed, the friends who understand and don't pressure me to join them, for the life I've redeemed.

At the local soup kitchen, Thanksgiving dinner starts with a simple prayer and ends with music, all provided by people who give up their own time to do for others. The homeless and the disabled, the addicted and the poor and the forgotten all line up for an hour's worth of refuge. There's no big screen television, no dressing up, no overstuffed chairs, no fancy dinnerware, just warmth, plenty of food, and a touch of God's grace to welcome you in and then send you on your way. No reservations are required and no one is turned away from this table. I think of this place when I feel ingratitude prying at the corners of my mind, when resentment for all that I don't have overshadows all that I do.

There is a genuine sense of family here in this small, shabby building - of sharing and giving thanks, of tolerance and respect for self and others. Outside the doors, they are struggling and impaired people but inside, they are children in need of a meal and a friendly face, a place to rest and be safe - they are souls in search of family and better times.

Truth is, they are you and me and everyone. There is sadness here as well as hope, charity as well as dignity, and compassion without condescension.

So come Thanksgiving Day, I will sleep in and be grateful in my own way, as I hope, will we all. And for a few hours, I will share my time with others who have far less to be grateful for. It seems a good way to spend the day, a good way to say thank you and remember that everyone should have a place at the table.