In 1621 those intrepid colonists and their native American guests --who were the guests, really? -- gathered at some point to feast and thank God for his blessings to them, not the least their survival. It was the survivors who gathered, of course. Many of the colonists spent the feast time resting in their graves. Imagine the drudgery, discomfort, sad losses, and dim prospects of the celebrants' lives and compare it with our luxury; it is embarrassing that I ever complain.
My blessings are so myriad and so plain that I have posted many of them in the past. Here are but a few:
My Siblings
Seven Blessings
Thirteen Thanks
May your Thanksgiving be a time of great joy. And may your blessings so multiply that, the next time the fourth Thursday in November rolls around, 24 hours will be too short to count them all.
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