There is always that within a man, as deeply seated as is the desire to wander–the desire for a home, for a place that belongs to oneself, a shelter away from the world.”
–Louis L’Amour (Dark Canyon)
“The Lord is my strength and shield. I trust him with all my heart. He helps me, and my heart is filled with joy. I burst out in songs of thanksgiving.”
–Psalm 28:7 (NLT)
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“Over the river, and through the wood,
To Grandfather’s house we go;…”
–Lydia Maria Child
Hey, wait a minute–Grandma and Grandpa are homeless. No house for the poor dears to go to. Woe is me, does that mean worms for Thanksgiving? Good thing the daughters had taken a likin’ to us and have taken us in. Maybe next year they really will go over the river and through the woods.
This was one of the first songs I remember learning in music class in school. I don’t know how much of it we learned, but I found out that there are actually twelve stanzas to the song.
“Over the river, and through the wood—
oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes and bites the nose
as over the ground we go.”
Now I can certainly remember some Thanksgivings when the wind did blow. That cold wind, howling down through the canyons could reach right inside your coat and tingle the innards. How many times, living in Colorado did I come in with red nose, ears, and cheeks? Ha, but as a kid, we didn’t care; it was too much fun playing out in the snow, or just the cold. There was always something to do.
I was always all right in the cold until the toes went. Once the cold reached down and grabbed those toes in its vise, that was it. Today, the circulation is worse, and I hate cold toes! But there is one verse that I relish:
“Over the river, and through the wood—
now Grandmother’s cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!”
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I’ve seen this prayer before, and I’m not sure if it is appropriate since the Lord told us to give thanks in all things, but there is a bit of truth in it so I’ll pass it on.
A minister was attending a men’s breakfast. He asked one of the older farmers in attendance to say the prayer that morning.
The farmer began, “Lord, I hate buttermilk.” The pastor opened one eye and wondered to himself where this was going. Then the farmer said, “Lord, I hate lard.”
Now, the pastor was worried. But the farmer prayed on, “And Lord, you know I don’t care much for raw flour.”
As the pastor was about to stop everything the farmer continued, “But Lord, when you mix ’em all together and bakes ’em up. I do love me those fresh biscuits.
So Lord, when things come we don’t like, when life gets hard, when we just don’t understand what you are saying to us, we just need to relax and wait ’til You are done fixin’ and probably it will be something even better than biscuits.”
This is the season of Thanksgiving. Be sure and take some time every day to think of things to be thankful for.