I’m sitting here, paging with a suspicious eye through a few carefully selected Black Friday flyers from this morning’s paper, thinking about the turkey we’ll be putting in the oven in a little under an hour, and about the ward’s “turkey bowl” a little after that, where I’ll go through my annual ritual of pretending I can actually play American football, and also about our “thankful wreath,” a collection of statements from Melissa and I and all the kids that we write on cut-out leaves and hang up, listing things were thankful for (Alison used up two of her leaves expressing gratitude for whales), and listening to recordings of “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing” on the laptop, and suddenly the quotidian power of it all made we want to write something.
I have so many people to thank for all the good things in my life. Mostly those with whom I have family or church or work connections, to be sure, but also just everyone, whether old and dear friends or near strangers or something in between, whom I've read or listened to or learned from over the past nearly-43 years. Dozens, hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, who have, whether they realize it or not, made me who am I today through their sharing ideas, arguments, jokes, and just snippets of their own struggles and triumphs with me.
Maybe it’s an odd thing to be grateful for: all this talk. But I’m a man of words, and probably will be until I die. For that reason, thanks, everybody. And happy (American) Thanksgiving Day.
Take your pick of recordings, and enjoy!
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