Today is a day of sweetness. It is a day of smiling. You feel it as you drive home, infusing your body and your soul.
Is it because of the woman walking out of the gym, the woman holding on to a walker, ready to blazon her way out of the double doors? You hold the door for her. She thanks you, then says, "If I don't see you before then, have a happy Thanksgiving!"
You can't imagine seeing her before then; you haven't seen her before today, but you wish her a happy Thanksgiving, too.
"Oh, I plan on it! I definitely plan on it!" she says, as she struggles with her walker.
"There's much to be thankful for, isn't there?" you say.
"Yes, indeed. There sure is," she says.
Much to be thankful for. Is it hypocritical of you to say that when you have the easy use of all your limbs, and she struggles with some sort of degenerative disease? When you have felt very little gratitude lately, and it nearly oozes out of this woman's pores? It echoes in your mind as you walk through the parking lot. You get in the car, and The Song is on--the song that is the song that you listened to with your husband, back before he was your husband. You sat in the airport, waiting for the boarding call, his boarding call, and shared ear buds listening to this song, this sweet song, with tears streaming down your face, knowing that he would be flying across the country, and you would be staying put. That, too, happened at Thanksgiving time. What were you thankful for then? The telephone? This new thing called email?
The sweetness takes root deep within as you listen to this song, infinitely thankful for your husband, who you giggled with last night, until you wept and your belly ached. You simmer in the sweetness.
You stop at the store to pick up some wrapping paper, some tape, some more Christmas presents, and when you find yourself back in the parking lot, there is a woman struggling with her shopping cart. She asks for your help, so you hold the cart as she unloads an awkward card table into the back of her van. How sweet it is to help someone.
Back at home, the fire glows hot, and the leftover pizza and chocolate toffee crackers feed your body. You decide not to worry today. Not about your children, not about upcoming festivities, not about news you wait for.
Today is a day for sweetness, a day for love, a day of gentleness and kindness.
Is it because of the woman walking out of the gym, the woman holding on to a walker, ready to blazon her way out of the double doors? You hold the door for her. She thanks you, then says, "If I don't see you before then, have a happy Thanksgiving!"
You can't imagine seeing her before then; you haven't seen her before today, but you wish her a happy Thanksgiving, too.
"Oh, I plan on it! I definitely plan on it!" she says, as she struggles with her walker.
"There's much to be thankful for, isn't there?" you say.
"Yes, indeed. There sure is," she says.
Much to be thankful for. Is it hypocritical of you to say that when you have the easy use of all your limbs, and she struggles with some sort of degenerative disease? When you have felt very little gratitude lately, and it nearly oozes out of this woman's pores? It echoes in your mind as you walk through the parking lot. You get in the car, and The Song is on--the song that is the song that you listened to with your husband, back before he was your husband. You sat in the airport, waiting for the boarding call, his boarding call, and shared ear buds listening to this song, this sweet song, with tears streaming down your face, knowing that he would be flying across the country, and you would be staying put. That, too, happened at Thanksgiving time. What were you thankful for then? The telephone? This new thing called email?
The sweetness takes root deep within as you listen to this song, infinitely thankful for your husband, who you giggled with last night, until you wept and your belly ached. You simmer in the sweetness.
You stop at the store to pick up some wrapping paper, some tape, some more Christmas presents, and when you find yourself back in the parking lot, there is a woman struggling with her shopping cart. She asks for your help, so you hold the cart as she unloads an awkward card table into the back of her van. How sweet it is to help someone.
Back at home, the fire glows hot, and the leftover pizza and chocolate toffee crackers feed your body. You decide not to worry today. Not about your children, not about upcoming festivities, not about news you wait for.
Today is a day for sweetness, a day for love, a day of gentleness and kindness.
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