Complicated

Thanksgiving has become complicated.  At last count, we were expecting 32 for dinner at our house.  It’s a family reunion of sorts – and I come from a large family. 

The food will be delicious.  My mom’s cornbread dressing rivals that of any great chef’s, and I’ll be making chocolate pies (our family recipe, of course).  There will be turkey, ham, sweet potatoes, green beans, you name it.  Any Thanksgiving dish you’ve ever heard of will probably be making an appearance on our table.

The meal isn’t all.  We have lots of fun things planned – games, exchanging of Christmas gifts, gumbo and football on Friday (while we watch LSU beat up on Arkansas, we hope).  There will be joyful singing, great fun, and real connection.

And yet somehow, in the midst of all this planning, I’ve lost sight of all that and allowed it to become overcomplicated.  With limited oven space, how will we be able to cook everything?  Will there be enough food?  Where will everyone sit?  Do we have enough room for everyone in our small house? 

I’ve grown weary of complicated.  We’ll cook what we can fit in the oven.  If we run out of food, we can raid our pantry that always has plenty of cereal.  Many of us can sit on the floor.  Who cares if we’re cramped like sardines as long as we’re together?

The truth is, I wish everyone could be here.  I’ll particularly miss my two older kids and granddaughter.  I’d love it if all my nieces and nephews could join us.  In a perfect world, all my extended family and all my husband’s extended family would be together under one roof, celebrating and thanking God for our blessings as one.  And maybe that’s it.  My definition of perfect isn’t delicious food, impeccable table settings, or plenty of room.  My definition of perfect is family – with all our idiosyncrasies – bound together in love and laughter.  And that’s a lot to be thankful for.