Following is a special story that highlights the joy and comfort that can be found in showing hospitality. As we bring this series to a close this week, we thought of what a great example this story offers us. It tells of the joy an elderly woman finds in practicing the gift of having not only an open heart, but an open home. Have a wonderfully Happy and Hospitable Thanksgiving!
A THANKFUL
THANKSGIVING
by Diane Dean White, shared with permission
The Sunday before Thanksgiving was a
cold snowy day that made you think of the previous summer and wonder if the
sunshine would come out before another week passed. I guess it was one of things
that made living in Michigan a challenge. The ever changeable
weather! As we gathered around the table to eat that afternoon, we were making
our plans for Thanksgiving dinner and who was bringing what. We always tried to
invite a new family from church over, thinking perhaps they would be alone on
Thanksgiving in a new area.
"Mom,” our youngest son said, “did you
notice Mrs. Mitchell sitting in church today? She was blowing into her
handkerchief and wiping her eyes."
Our daughter said she thought it must
be because her son had just passed away. I was stunned. My husband and I looked
at one another and asked how she knew about this—we hadn’t heard a thing! We
knew about her son, but only that he had been wounded in the war and didn’t live
in the area.
"I guess she hasn’t seen him for a
while; he lived some place in another state, and I only knew about it because
René’s dad was helping her with the burial arrangements," our daughter
finished.
I thought about the prayer chain that
was used for everything from an illness with a newborn to someone who had been
diagnosed with cancer, and yet nobody had shared a thing about Mrs. Mitchell and
her son. As the meal ended, I spoke with my husband, and he said he would call
René’s dad and talk with him.
I knew Mrs. Mitchell wouldn’t be at the
evening service that night, as she hardly ever ventured out after dark, but
something was telling me I should stop by to see her. My husband agreed; he said
his telephone conversation had assured him that her son had been in and out of
the hospital a number of times, and last week Mrs. Mitchell received a call from
the authorities that he had fought his last battle.
"Oh dear,” I exclaimed! “How could she
handle this alone? I’m going over to see her right now," I told my husband as I
reached for my keys, purse, and coat. "I’ll take some of these brownies and tell
her I was thinking of her and just wanted to stop by."
The snow was still coming down as I
rang the front door bell of the old Victorian house on
Main
Street. Mrs. Mitchell had been widowed for
over 10 years, and yet she was a sweet and loving lady, always ready to help out
when she could.
"Hello, dear," a smile appeared on the
kindly wrinkled older face. "What on earth are you doing out on this cold
night?" she asked, ushering me into the foyer.
"I was thinking about you today, and
one of the boys said he saw you in church and thought you might have a cold. I
just wanted to bring some brownies by to see how you were feeling," I gently
said.
She invited me in for some hot tea, and
we talked about some of the coming church functions. Then she said she’d like to
share something with me. I prepared myself to listen to a mother’s heart as she
bravely spoke.
Her son had been a
Vietnam veteran and was battling some type of
disease and emotional problems from his years during the war. He was in and out
of the VA hospital in the state where he resided. She had sent him a card
inviting him to have Thanksgiving and Christmas with her, as she was all alone.
And then she received the call from the hospital about his death. She knew she
couldn’t make the trip, and she and René’s father made the arrangements with the
Veterans Administration the week before. She said he had been to see her a few
months ago, and they spoke on the telephone often; but his battle had been a
hard one, and she remembered their last conversation and how he looked when he
had been home. She would carry that memory of him in her heart. He would be laid
to rest next to her late husband.
"I’m so very sorry, Mrs. Mitchell. I
only wish you had told us. We would have been over to help you in any way we
could." I felt it seemed like such a weak thing to say in view of the situation.
"I do want you to plan to be with us on Thanksgiving, this Thursday—please plan
to come. I don’t want you to be alone at this special time of year."
"You know," the silver-haired lady
smiled happily, "I would love it if you and your family would be my guest and
come over and have dinner with me on Thursday. When my husband was alive, we
used to have several families from the area share that day with us, and I would
enjoy thinking about the dinner, making pies, salads, cakes, and the turkey.
Will you say yes?—it would make me so happy." She was practically gleaming with
excitement. I could see her mind was reliving memories that were special to
her.
"Well, we have invited a new family
from the church to come to our house for dinner, but I know they’d enjoy sharing
the day with you too—and we certainly would. But are you sure you’re up to this
crowd?" I was thoughtful of her doing too much.
"Of course, I am. I’ve entertained all
my life and will enjoy doing this too. And it will give me something happy to
think about. Actually, I’ll be ‘thankful’ to you for joining me on
Thanksgiving." I knew what she was saying; and after talking a few minutes more,
I said "goodnight" and told her I’d be in touch.
When I arrived home and told the
children about going to Mrs. Mitchell’s for Thanksgiving dinner, they were all
happy. Our oldest son said she had a great hill for sledding, and our daughter
loved her big, old house and said Mrs. Mitchell was like a grandmother. I
thought about our small home, but am always happy to share with anyone who could
come, and how happy Mrs. Mitchell looked when thinking about her Thanksgiving
plans.
Later that evening as my husband and I
were talking, I said it would be different not to get up early in the morning
and put a turkey in the oven, but how Mrs. Mitchell had actually said she would
be "thankful" if she could host the dinner at her home. I was grateful that, at
a sad time in someone’s life, having a crowd for Thanksgiving dinner would help.
Even in the cold snowy weather I felt the warmth from an older woman who, in the
face of loss, was reaching out to share with others.
Copyright
© 2005 Diane Dean
White
…Wrapping gifts.
