After the tornadoes of 2011, the whole South was left reeling. Nearly everyone lost someone or knew someone who’d been taken by the wind.

We were all changed, scared, scarred.

Even after the monsters had moved on, we were still afraid of the question that swirled like debris: Why did God allow this?

The following Sunday, we limped, war-weary to our churches, parched for answers.

But our Pastor didn’t offer any answers. Rather than ask impossible questions about why things happen, he tenderly shifted our focus to instead seek out why God allowed each of us to live.

It was a call to gratefulness, an invitation to live on purpose.

It’s what the saints call thanks-living.

* * * * * * * *

One time my parents loaded up my brother and me and drove to a house that looked abandoned. It was one of many times.

I remember how the car bucked over the railroad track and gravel crunched under the tires as we pulled up to house #1.

A blast of cold air shot through the back seat as Daddy slammed the trunk shut.

I watched him carry something and set it by the door. He knocked, waited respectfully, and got back in the car.

As we drove away I looked back and saw a woman peek out, pick up the big frozen turkey and a bag of fixings. She waved thank-you.

I remember she was smiling.

Mama and Daddy never did explain Thanksgiving to us. We learned what it is by watching them live it.

* * * * * * * *

Fast-forward 30 years, Selah’s singing loud from her bath, He’s got the whole world, in His Hands…

Indeed, He does.

Thanks-living is strange business because God is Spirit, and those who worship Him in spirit and truth tend to vanish before anyone has time to thank them.

Once I was at a friend’s ministry when a guest came needing work jeans. A stack in exactly his size had been donated just 5 minutes before he walked in.

Another time, the Upper Room needed coats to share with their friends. In no time after issuing the request, they received a box packed with coats—the good kind—Columbia, North Face, Carhartt….

One Sunday, a gentle woman pulled me aside, her voice shaking with praise, We didn’t know how we’d pay our church’s light bill, but a visitor tithed—His check was just enough!

Then there was the family from Romania.

The young father had been told he could work hard in America and succeed. An ocean later, they’re begging for milk, sleeping in their windowless van with a newborn.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

He was tired. His shoes were foreign and paper thin… But earlier that same morning before we even met him, an anonymous soul had left a box of men’s shoes and boots—in exactly this man’s size—and two warm coats outside our door, perfect for him and his small wife.

Someone else filled up their gas tank and they drove to Room in the Inn for shelter, hot food and hope…

Last year we knew several souls with nowhere to spend Thanksgiving. Then unexpectedly, the phone rang.

I don’t know how she got our number, but a humble stranger asked, I know it’s a long shot, but by chance do you know anyone who’d like to eat the Thanksgiving meal with our church Thursday? We have room for 100 guests.

It’s Thanksgiving again, and I still hear Selah singing…

He’s got the whole world in His Hands,

He’s got you and me, baby, in His Hands….

Because according to those waiting for us in Heaven, this is the perfect Thanksgiving recipe:

Above everything, put on Love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts… And be thankful.

~ Colossians 3:14-16