I feel better today--more grounded. We have the beginnings of giblet gravy reducing on the stove, pumpkin/pecan pie filling sitting in the fridge, and cornbread cooling on a rack at the table where I sit. Excuse me while I grab a bite (it’s for stuffing, it’ll never be missed).

Tonight I fulfilled the stereotype of the late-trimester nesting woman by attacking a few stubborn stains on the carpet in our family room. It looks good now, and I can’t decide whether my total ecstasy at having accomplished this small feat is cool, or pathetic.

Took C to my appointment with the midwife today. Despite an unprecedented 45-minute wait (ugh, the one time I take the munchkin with me!), all went well. C is captivated by medical stuff anyway, and was able to be fascinated by the whole process without having to be the recipient of any medical attention herself. Honestly? The most interesting part was the urine sample. Peeing in a cup was a new concept for her, as was the little door/shelf in the middle of the wall that connects the restroom to the lab. Her primary question on the way home was “Where did the pee-pee go?” I explained that the nurse checked it to make sure that the baby and I were healthy. (We are.)

She also got to hear the heartbeat, no thanks to her dodgy little sister’s attempts to confound the nurse practitioner in training. So in between questions about the whereabouts of my waste products I was treated to C’s impression of the heartbeat: “wow wow wow wow wow wow…” Which if you’ve heard a fetal heartbeat on doppler you know, that pretty much nails it, onomatopoetically and otherwise.

This morning was my turn to provide the opening devotional for staff meeting. As usual, I was running late. I decided to do something on Thanksgiving, so I grabbed a book off my shelf called The Circle of Life: The Heart’s Journey through the Seasons by Joyce Rupp and Macrina Wiederkehr. The book is a series of poems, reflections and guided meditations organized in sections for winter, spring, etc. I leafed through the autumn section to find an entry about Thanksgiving. Then I hurriedly flipped through the psalms and settled on psalm 65 because it had “thanksgiving” in the subtitle.

Isn’t it amazing when one’s own paltry efforts are transformed by the Spirit? What was rather half-baked got a blast of heat at just the right time, and the toothpick came out clean.

On this rainy day, during the harvest time of the year, two days before Thanksgiving, we read these words from psalm 65:

Praise is due to you, O God… O you who answer prayer! …
You visit the earth and water it, you greatly enrich it; the river of God is full of water; you provide the people with grain, for so you have prepared it.
You water its furrows abundantly, settling its ridges, softening it with showers, and blessing its growth.
You crown the year with your bounty…
The pastures of the wilderness overflow, the hills gird themselves with joy,
the meadows clothe themselves with flocks, the valleys deck themselves with grain, they shout and sing together for joy.

And Joyce Rupp writes in “A Closer Look at Thanksgiving:

If you look at a sunset,
you might see only the disappearance of daylight.
If you look beneath,
you may see darkness opening the splendor of stars.

If you look at lost dreams,
you might see only disappointment and doubt.
If you look beneath,
you may see the stuff that new dreams contain.

If you look at the planet’s pain and creatures’ woe,
you might see only despair.
If you look beneath,
you may see hope woven in the compassionate care of many.

If you look at yourself,
you might see only tarnished unfinishedness.
If you look beneath,
you may see you basic goodness shining there.

If you look for the divine being,
you might see mostly unresolved questions.
If you look beneath,
you may be astounded at the availability of divine love.

Hmm…

If you focus on the chaos,
the long list of items left undone,
you might feel like you are coming undone yourself.
If you look beneath,
you may see an order in things,
and be able to trust that what needs to happen will happen.