Giving Thanks with Our Eyes Open

My grandfather was a Methodist minister, he reminded me of a great tree. In my childhood, he said grace at family feasts when he visited us in the Catskill mountains. This was more of a sermon than a prayer. Long, very long, grace was delivered in a tone that was more sung than spoken. Grace was the calm before the storm of family gatherings – the laughter, stories, songs, jokes, secrets, arguments, spills and tired messes to follow by evening. Continue reading “Giving Thanks with Our Eyes Open”