Thanksgiving love

Thanksgiving is about food. Everyone knows that. We spend weeks talking about menus and side dishes and who will host and what we'll do with the leftovers. Because there has to be leftovers. It's a part of how we celebrate community and family and show our gratitude for all that we have.

But it's about so much more I've come to realize.

Sunday we had our annual church Thanksgiving dinner. We filled the gymnasium and ate and ate. We shared tables with people we'd just met that day and people we've known for years. We talked and laughed and took pictures and ate. We gave thanks. We shared our love.

And then when Angela and I and some friends headed home from the dinner, we stopped just outside the gates of the church. There was Raquel who is a member of our family, a member who sleeps on the sidewalk out front. Someone had brought her dinner but she wanted coffee. With cream. I handed off my leftovers and ran back into the church. I grabbed a piece of apple pie and headed back out.

And as I watched Raquel take that first sip of coffee, she told me she hadn't had any yet that day, I saw pure joy wash across her face. The same joy I've seen on my grandmother's and my mother's faces a thousand times. The simple joy of a sip of hot coffee.

Then I made sure she liked apple pie, helped her get all situated, and headed to the parking lot. Along the way I ran into another member of our family, a man who yelled out my name with such friendliness and love that I immediately felt embarrassed I couldn't remember his name. But I remembered his eyes, his face, his love of black jackets and black socks, and I stopped to chat. I watched as he ate a turkey dinner from tin foil from a church down the street. He was so enjoying his food. We chatted. I promised to keep my eyes peeled for a black suit jacket for him and we parted with holiday wishes.

And then I hopped into the car where Angela was waiting. I looked at her and as spontaneously as Raquel had smiled when she sipped her coffee, I burst into tears.

I had had a wonderful day full of worship and decorating the church for Christmas and laughs with friends and time to share stories and lives and I ate a big meal with pie and it had been just about as perfect as a Sunday in November can be. But there I sat sobbing. Big ugly sobs that were completely unexpected.

We do so much as a church. As a people. I have friends who give so much of their time and their paychecks and their energy and their prayers. We do so much. And yet...

Two of these people I know, have known for eight years, stood outside on the street, eating their Thanksgiving meal. And this time I didn't feel guilt. I didn't feel guilt for eating inside, or enjoying the meal and not leftovers. I didn't feel that I had to bring everyone inside the gates. What I felt Sunday was pure sadness. Sadness over so much. Sadness over what I cannot help. Sadness over these two people in particular. That life has brought them to this point.

But if you live in only sadness the love gets lost. I know this. And I know there is light in this dark world. Because later on a friend sent me this message:

One of the Tuesday guests that joined us for Thanksgiving dinner was walking out to the parking lot afterward. He was so excited and talking to his friend. One of the last things I heard him say was "Yeah, I think Sarah was really excited we were there!"

I read that message and immediately grinned. I laughed out loud. I couldn't stop from smiling all night. The message was referring to Marlon, and we had several conversations Sunday. He joined us for worship, he joined us for dinner. He was beyond thrilled to see me it seemed. He couldn't quit raving about the best meal he'd just had there in the gymnasium with us. And Tuesday, when I saw him at Lunch, he bragged about how special it was that the pastor of the whole church, our new Pastor Blair, had sat and eaten with him and his friends.

It's true, I was really excited Marlon was there with us Sunday, and truth be told, I was really excited to see my two friends outside the gates Sunday night too. To stop and have a moment with them, however brief, to connect. Because in that connection there is love. No matter if it's with someone we've just met like Timothy who we decorated the church with and then ate with or if it's Jen and her lovely Marilee who we also ate with who I've known since before Marilee was born. It's the connection, no matter how brief, that's important. Sometimes we see it, sometimes we feel it, sometimes we are it.

Tuesday Angela and I worked Homeless Lunch and Angela passed out over 100 oranges as Thanksgiving treats. She had so many connections and I love that. Yesterday we worked a short shift at the Los Angeles Regional Food Bank with about a hundred other people and sorted donations. We didn't really make any connections, or so I thought at first. But then at the end of our shift, they told us what we had accomplished in three hours:

• 21,000 pounds of non-perishable food sorted
• 17,500 pounds of bread sorted
• 13,500 pounds of perishable food sorted
• 1,850 meals boxed and ready to go out within the week
• A total of 40,000 people who would be less hungry as a direct result of our efforts

Let me say it again, if you live in only sadness the love gets lost. I choose to not live in the sadness of Sunday. Instead, I live in the love of Sunday. The love of Tuesday. The love of yesterday. I choose to live in the love of today. To make connections. To remind myself that being blessed is not just a hashtag (though #blessed is amazing!) but a constant state for me and so many others. I cannot be sad. I can only love. I can only be love and share love and receive love.

Thanksgiving is about love. It's about food. And in so many ways food is love. It's about beginning this season, this year, this new year, this life again, with so much love.