Thanksgiving Addendum

Debt of Gratitude

Something particular has been heavily on my mind for months now and I don't think I can put the Thanksgiving season behind me without endeavoring to express it. I've hesitated because the expression is difficult. My previous attempts have all been weak. But as this something has everything to do with gratitude, I thought I'd make another, if still feeble, attempt in the afterglow of the Thanksgiving holiday.

 

Preface: One day, just after Wes and I were engaged, we found ourselves in my parents home visiting with a few family members. Good times, good memories. But on this particular night, just before we all parted company, my father took the opportunity to...eductate...Wes on a certain subject.

See, I was born late into my family. Nine years after my closest sibling. My dear mother was forty-three when I entered earthly existence. Throughout my childhood, she and my dad were often mistaken as my grandparents.

So it was only natural, after so much parenting, so much later in life than usual, that my dad should have plans for me. You know: youngest daughter takes especially good care of aging parents plans.

And on the above mentioned evening, Dad briefly and tactfully explained these plans to Wes. When he finished, my dashing fiance nodded a few times, looked at me, and said, "So. You come with baggage."

Gotta love the stamped photo. No time to scan my hard copy. Bother. Someday I'll trade it out...

But here's the thing: we're still waiting for my parents to behave like baggage. Instead, they seem more and more like super heroes. Life savers. That's certainly what they've been these past 12 weeks since the birth of our #2 child.

Funny how the more things there are depending on me, the more I depend on them.

And they're always there. Steady reinforcement.

The other day as we were finishing breakfast Lucy looked at me and said, "We haven't been to Grandma and Grandpa Packer's house for a long time!" It had been precisely six days since our last visit. Long enough for Lucy - and me- to feel a little separation anxiety.

Can't tell you how many times I've cried tears of very real relief at the sound of my parent's cheerful knock on our front door or at the thought of an approaching "sleepover" at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Can't tell you how many times I've called, just to hear mom or dad's familiar voice speak loving, reassuring, reinforcing words. Can't tell you how many prayers of thanks I've uttered, or how I've pled with Heavenly Father to bless my parents as abundantly and continually as they bless me.

Because I don't have the words to express my gratitude.
And there's certainly no way I can ever pay the debt I owe.

Baggage? I'll take it.