The past couple of days, it's crossed my mind a few times to write a bit about Thanksgiving. Not my list-- though I have plenty to be thankful for. Not my plans-- they aren't terribly creative (turkey, potatoes, family, friends). Not my diatribe about how you can't jump into the Christmas season until we've passed this critical juncture in November-- I don't think I'm winning that battle. Rather, what I want to say on Thanksgiving is pretty simple:
Thank you.
I am thankful for those who knew this land (North America) and were willing to teach very strange, pale people how to survive in it. I am grateful for this beautiful place that was cherished long before I got here. I am grateful for the legacy of Native North Americans, and I am grateful that racism and genocide did not have the final word in their history-- our history.
Spurred on by words from Mark Charles, I want to thank those Americans who've been ignored and shut away for most of our national history. Especially as a follower of Jesus and reader of the history of a persecuted people (in the Bible), I join in mourning and prayer for renewal of indigenous populations. I offer thanks for undeserved generosity and welcome in this land. Especially on Thanksgiving, I choose to remember things that would be easier to forget, people who have been told they are unwanted and forgotten, circumstances that make it hard for many to be grateful.
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