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Canadian Thanksgiving in Iowa

It’s the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend. As a Canadian, I celebrate it in Iowa. Each year, David and I fill our home with sounds of children's’ laughter, tasty foods, worship and reflection times with old and new friends.

Over the past two years David and I make spaces at our 10 foot table for as many families as we can pack in. We call it “Sunday Supper”. Most times we chore with the guests; feeding a baby calf a bottle, filling some grain buckets or collecting eggs from the ducks and chickens. Tonight, we’ll add to that a wagon ride; children perched on itchy hay bales and bump along through the pasture behind an antique Ford tractor.

Coming home from church earlier today, I experienced the pangs of loneliness that I occasionally let creep into my Sundays; memories of family times with my children(now grown), grandchildren and and Canadian relations.

Thanksgiving always meant a family meal with Turkey, trimmings, pumpkin pie and a traditional weird jello salad. Now, (as David reminds me) is no time to lament but truly to be thankful that I live on a farm in the state of Iowa, with spaces to roam free, people who hug hard, and sing loud, and pray spontaneously. With piles of furry animals who come running for a cuddle, plenty to eat, a song in my heart and a spring in my step, life is pretty awesome.

Tonight at Sunday supper, in my mind I’m celebrating Thanksgiving even though the others will wait until next month. Nachos and chili, a tablescape of pumpkins and colored corn amid twinkly lights. And, best of all, the prayers and singers and laughers and eaters all squished in to freely celebrate just being together. Thank God for all of them and for my Iowa home!


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