After October’s spectacular kaleidoscope of colors, November’s bare trees and grey skies strike a decidedly more somber note. Much of the gold and crimson finery that dressed October’s trees now lies in tatters on the ground, crunching underfoot. If October is the grand ball, November is the morning-after letdown. And yet, in the midst of this seemingly barren month comes Thanksgiving, a holiday for celebrating the abundance of blessings in our lives. One of my favorite Thanksgiving symbols is the cornucopia, that horn of plenty, overflowing with the fruits of a bountiful harvest. The trees may be empty by Thanksgiving, but after the fall harvest most of us find our larders—not to mention stomachs and hearts—generously filled.
Unlike the changing colors of the leaves, however, a bountiful harvest doesn’t just happen. It is the result of the hard work we did in the spring, preparing the soil, planting the seeds and nurturing those first tender green shoots. The excitement of new life, full of anticipation and promise, charges the spring air and energizes us. We invest our time and labor in hopeful expectation of seeing our visions and dreams fully realized come harvest time. If all goes as planned, the hopefulness of spring will yield the satisfaction of fall.
But what do we do when things don’t go as planned, when our best efforts are completely undone by unexpected changes and circumstances beyond our control? What happens when we do everything right, nurture our seedlings and faithfully tend them, yet the resulting harvest is meager? How do we respond when our horn of plenty is anything but?
These are questions I have been asking myself as I prepare for Thanksgiving 2015 because this year has been one of unexpected, and at times seemingly insurmountable, loss for me. There are faces that won’t be around my table this year, or ever again, and the loss of their love and friendship is devastating. There are dreams that fell woefully short of my vision, seeds I planted and faithfully cared for, but which failed to bear much fruit. And some turned completely to dust. My heart is heavy with disappointment and my cornucopia seems empty of blessings.
But is it really? I adjust my view a bit and force myself to look through the lens of gratitude. As my cornucopia comes into clearer focus I see it isn’t empty after all. True, there are precious faces missing, and while those can never be replaced, there is an abundance of love, care and concern from others, filling in those spaces. I see the many hands that have supported me through the hard times, that have pulled me up again and again and steadied me enough to walk on. I see new dreams breathing life into those that had withered on the vine. I even see shiny bits of hope among the dust and ashes at my feet.
This year’s harvest isn’t the kind I’ve grown accustomed to, nor is it the one I had expected, but it is a rich harvest nonetheless. And so, even as I grieve the losses of the past year, even as I hold those who have gone from this life forever in my heart, I will give thanks for the blessings I have received and have faith there are more still to come. And I will pray for eyes that can recognize blessings in disguise.
Wishing everyone a bountiful horn of plenty! (And pie.)
If you don’t mind 🙂 I’m going to borrow that mindset “it is a rich harvest nonetheless.”
That is precisely what I needed to hear and be reminded of.
It’s hard to keep that focus sometimes, huh? Thanks for stopping by, Carla!
I feel so many of the same things you are feeling, so it was wonderful reading your thoughts. The law of the harvest is real. Those who have left provided part of who you are. xxoo
Thank you for reminding me–we are the legacy, so those who are gone do live on. Thanks for stopping by and I hope you have a fabulous Thanksgiving!
That was such a calming post to read… I’m really sorry for your losses who won’t be around your table. It must be an intense time of reflection for you.
Thank you so much for your kind words, Karen. It’s a different Thanksgiving this year–I guess that’s inevitable as we grow older. But different can still be good. Wishing you a great holiday!!
I was thinking today of my late best friend of childhood who died in September. She took care of her 90 plus year old mother even after she was diagnosed with a cancer with a low survival rate and had to undergo extensive chemo, my brother in law’s wife whose ailing mother was moved into palliative care this afternoon is in my thoughts. I am thinking of a lot of people and how life seems so unfair. It is a rich harvest nevertheless. I am going to link to your blog when I write about Thanksgiving later this week.
I know, we have to keep looking for the bits of goodness where we can–it’s sure a lot harder at some points in our life than others. But we can carry on in their memory and be the living legacy of the goodness they brought to life.Thank you so much for stopping by and your kindness in sharing. Hope you have a great holiday!
I love your attitude in the face of change and unexpected loss. And I totally agree with you about November. It is bleak compared to October but redeemed by the hope and bounty of Thanksgiving. It is hard to sit around the table and think of those who will never be with us again in this life. On the other hand, it is also good to think of them and treasure our memories of them. Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family Lee.
Thanks, Molly. Yes, the memories are ours to keep forever. Wishing you a truckload of turnips this Thanksgiving! 🙂
This is beautiful and such perfect timing for me. I’m going through a lot of drama in my extended family, so this holiday will be quite different for us this year. Thank you for reminding me that I still have my cornucopia, and that it is indeed, still full.
Hi, Marcia,
Thanks so much for stopping by. Yes, we have to keep our focus on what we have and not what we’ve lost. Challenging at times to be sure. But in spite of everything, we still have lots to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving! 🙂
First I am sorry for your losses. Second, I know those sort of years all too well. Years when the cornucopia is not only empty but tattered. They seem too tough to bear. And then sun comes out and shines and I feel alive.
Thanks, Beth. Yes, the lean years really test you, don’t they? But just like you said, the sun comes out and I feel like I am ready to get back in the game. Happy Thanksgiving!
This is beautiful. So much easier to see the loss and sadness, but so much better to see the positives.
Thank you, Silly Mummy! The blessings sometimes seem hard to find, but if we look with the right “eyes,” we can always find something to be grateful for. That said, I still prefer the flat-out good times! 🙂