Faith: Unlike Thanksgiving turkey, gratitude never goes bad

As I’m writing on the Sunday evening after Thanksgiving, most of us still have a bit of turkey left. No wonder a giblet or two of the news earlier today focused on a warning. Great Thanksgiving memories are worth holding on to, but the U.S. Department of Agriculture cautions that leftover meals shouldn’t be kept too long.

At our house today, we still have a bit of turkey left, but we’re well past the “My, what a wonderful bird!” stage and have moved into the “Let’s slap a hunk or two of turkey between bread” stage.

We’ll soon belly up to Stage III: “OK, let’s grind up what’s left and make turkey salad sandwiches.” Not for me, thanks. After the poor bird hits the fan, I tend to lose interest.

And now, though Madison Avenue started weeks ago (completely unconcerned about Santa ending up skewered by a witch on a broom before Halloween), it really is time for us to start retrieving our Christmas decorations from under-the-stairwell storage.

It’s time to prepare to string some garland and plug in some lights. By the time you read this, we’ll have pulled our plastic made-in-China tree out of its dusty bag, pieced it together, fluffed its fake branches, and it will be decorated, lit, and beautiful again.

I’m still glad I grew up when getting the tree meant going to a tree lot, almost freezing but warming up over a wood fire lit in a 55-gallon drum, crunching snow underfoot as we walked down the rows of trees to pick just the right one, and then tying it atop the family car to get it home.

It smelled wonderful. It smelled like Christmas, and I love that smell.

For the first few years we lived here (where we’ve lived for almost 40), I tempted fate by hanging over the eaves of our two-story tall house to put up the Christmas lights. That gave me plenty of time to ponder the word for a swan dive off of our roof: fatal.

So, nobody was happier than I was when I decided to build and light up some fiberboard shepherds who, along with their sheep, hang out just about halfway up the front of the house and who, I am relieved, pleased, and need to think, would look odd surrounded by additional Christmas lights.

Storyteller Garrison Keillor says that the folks in his fanciful Lake Wobegon town charged with setting up the city’s Christmas decorations about this time each year still curse the volunteer handyman who built the decorations years ago out of 3/4-inch plywood. Not quite that heavy, my shepherds and their flock still seem to put on some weight each year. Hoisting those gents requires some care, but it’s still more fun than hanging string after string of lights at high altitude.

So, I guess I’m about ready for the transition from “We Gather Together” and “Over the River and Through the Woods” to “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!”

The “early church” of the first century was way too early to know anything about Thanksgiving American-style, but they could teach us a lot about giving thanks. At the heart of their gratitude was an Advent sort of truth that bridges the gaps between all seasons: “For God so loved the world that he sent his Son.” That means that God loves you. And he loves me.

I really am thankful for last week’s turkey — stages one, two, or even three. Do keep the USDA’s warning in mind. But, even more important, remember that gratitude never goes bad. 

Curtis Shelburne writes about faith for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him at:

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