Thanksgiving, at its heart, was created for one purpose. To thank God for His blessings.

The Pilgrims knew hardship well. They had survived disease, starvation, harsh winters, and the loss of loved ones. When the harvest finally came in, they stopped long enough to give thanks to God for His mercy and His provision.

That spirit followed generations of Americans all the way to small towns like Ashdown, Arkansas, where I was born and raised. In the 60s and 70s, families there understood hard work and simple living. Many had grown up without the conveniences others took for granted, yet gratitude flowed.

Thanksgiving Day often began before the sun was fully up. Families prepared dishes, loaded the car, and set out on familiar roads. Sometimes it was a quick ride across town. Other times it meant bumping down gravel roads with dust rising behind the car while everyone inside tried to balance bowls and pie tins.

Both sets of grandparents expected a visit, and we were eager to see them. The day was a steady rhythm of arriving, hugging, eating, talking, and then getting back into the car to do it again.

Kitchens overflowed with relatives talking over one another. Aunts and uncles carried in dishes made from recipes older than they were. Cousins waited for someone to tell them it was time to eat.

Everyone had a specialty that made them famous within the family. My mother brought her layered salad and chocolate pie. The meringue rose so high it looked like it was climbing into the rafters. One grandmother made cornbread dressing that was always a hit. My other grandmother brought out jars of pickled beets and baked sweet potato pies that disappeared rapidly.

Once the meal settled, the kids drifted to the living room or a quiet corner of the house. Monopoly boards came out with their tiny houses and hotels waiting to be claimed. Someone always argued over who got to be the race car or top hat token on the board. Scrabble tiles rattled in the bag while everyone tried to come up with words that may or may not have been real. Canasta and spades brought laughter, teasing, and harmless competition.

Even in all the fun, the real center of the day came during the quiet moments. Before the first plate was filled, everyone bowed their heads. A prayer rose from someone who had seen a lot of life. Sometimes it was a grandfather whose hands were rough from years of work. Other times it was a grandmother whose voice trembled with emotion.

They thanked God for food, shelter, and protection. They thanked Him for seeing the family through sickness, loss, and war. They remembered those who had served and never returned and children who had passed too soon.

Gratitude was not something they saved for special occasions. It was woven into their lives, but Thanksgiving gave them a chance to say it out loud.

The grownups used the day to share stories too. They talked about funny things their children had said when they were small. They bragged on new jobs, school achievements, and marriages. Spoke with pride about family members who had served the country or worked their way out of hard circumstances.

For the young, these stories were lessons. The adults wanted us to understand that life was not always easy for those who came before us.

When Kennedy and LBJ sat in the White House, some of our relatives still lived on farms without running water or a telephone. Electricity reached them slowly, and money was often scarce. Yet they were grateful people, and their gratitude shaped the entire family.

Those gatherings taught us to appreciate what we had. They reminded us to look beyond ourselves and see the sacrifices made by those who worked and struggled so we could have a better life. They showed us how strong families stay connected, even when times are tough.

Looking back, I can still hear the sounds of those days. The clatter of dishes being washed by hand. The soft shuffle of cards being dealt on a kitchen table. The laughter of cousins who had waited months to see one another. And above all, the steady, faithful prayers spoken before every meal.

Thanksgiving shaped us. It grounded us. It taught us to love our families, to honor our past, and to recognize the goodness of God in our lives. And this year, I pray that we are all truly thankful.

 

© 2025 John Moore

John’s, “Puns for Groan People” and two volumes about growing up in the South called, “Write of Passage,” are available at TheCountryWriter.com. John would like to hear from you at John@TheCountryWriter.com.