I have a surprise for you.
I recently mentioned resenting interrupted Thanksgiving Days, but today’s post begins the tale of two interrupted Thanksgivings and their attending blessings. Hope you enjoy them.
The first one was when my youngest two sons were about 8 and 6. We were about to leave for our annual “over the river and through the woods”.
Our children had laid out all their clothing according to the master list I provided years ago and stored in each suitcase. (Remember, I was a home-school mom.) Last minute details on cleaning the house before we left were panning out nicely. (I was a bit OCD about coming home to a dirty house.) (Okay, I was a bit OCD about “what if we had a wreck and someone had to come into our house . . . “)
Anyway, we were near completion on everything. The only thing remaining was supper, baths, and sleep, during which I would pack all that nicely laid-out clothing and then sleep during the trip.
I was on schedule and smiling at myself on the inside. In a carefree voice, I told my kids to go out and play, that all the biggest chores were done.
In a few moments they came back inside, the 8-year-old with his arm broken.
My husband had a late meeting that night, so it fell on me to drop all packing chores and take the poor babe to the doctor. It was so late, I called first, and our wonderful family practitioner said if I came straight there, they would stay open for me. That was blessing #1.
One x-ray told all: My son’s injury was the type of break that would require an orthopedist to finish breaking, which was a surgical procedure requiring an overnight stay in the hospital. So after a couple of calls to my husband and to our house, we traveled on to the next town and succumbed to the ministrations of ER. Once there, the inevitable questions came, about who and how this child could be so severely injured. It was a downer, but along came my husband’s close friend, who happened to be the ER physician on call that night, to vouch for me, and to give me his own phone number for “who to call in case of an emergency” when I could not remember my own mother’s phone number. Blessing #2.
(That poor ER nurse was certain I was a childbeater, but what could she say?) Blessing #3.
Anyway, our family doctor had called ahead to our preferred orthopedist, who dropped everything and came to our rescue. Literally, he arrived in the ER in a tux. When I apologized for calling him from such a special occasion, he said, “Are you kidding? I would have taken any excuse to get out of there!” I count that as blessing #4.
Sure, enough, our son had to remain in the hospital overnight, and our entire plans for Thanksgiving were canceled. Our families, 500 miles to the north, were totally disappointed, as we were, too, of course, but we all were more concerned about this little boy and his well-being. Hard to recognize blessing #5. Hey, not everyone has this kind of understanding in their families.
If you’ve read many of my posts, you know we take Thanksgiving Day quite seriously in our family. I immediately began thinking about the get-together our small Bible-study group had planned, for celebrating Thanksgiving, that we had thought we would miss because of going to be with family. I made a couple of calls and we soon had a very special celebration lined up with these other people we loved almost like family. Blessing #6.
Our son was mending, but still woozy from pain killers, and even then, still in some pain, but we all went to celebrate with these friends in one of their homes. They took us in like the orphans we felt we were. All their children treated our injured son to amazing understanding and rare privileges children reserve only for those times when life pleads that we be kind. (Blessing #7)
We were glad to be there, to be thankful for blessings we knew of, never realizing that God was busy, preparing other blessings not so obvious, indeed, of which we could never have even dreamed . . .
Tomorrow: Thanksgiving Found!