Every year at Thanksgiving, I think back on the years, and have very fond memories of every Thanksgiving tradition I have taken part in.
One of the earliest Thanksgivings I remember was spent in Western Guatemala with my mission family. I don’t know how many people were there, but the first year we went out there, there were a lot of us. It was several families with children, and then some single missionaries. The town we were in was very very cold, and at the top of a rise in the Western Highlands, so there was not much protection from the wind. We stayed with some colleagues of my parents…everyone piled in the house. There were people sleeping everywhere…on the floor in the bedrooms, living room, and kitchen. The kids all went up to the single missionary’s house and slept there.
In years following, that celebration became very dear to my heart. It continued through my high school years, and there was always a story to tell, an adventure had. My senior year of high school, my best friend (from diapers) and I had made a pact that we would climb the tallest volcano in Central America before we graduated. I had grown up in a village down the mountain from it, so I wanted to say I had climbed “my mountain” before graduating. The part where people hike from was only about 30 minutes from where we were, so we made arrangements that the day after Thanksgiving we would climb. Some others were going to join us.
I remember being in a small, two room house with a bathroom in between the rooms the night before we were going to climb. My best friend, three single female missionaries, and myself were all lined up sleeping on the floor on mattresses in one room, and two or three other single ladies were in the other room. The wind was so loud, howling like I’d never heard it before. It was blowing the tin of the roof, and we could feel the drafts. At one point, I thought the house would blow off the mountain (clearly it didn’t…).
At about 2 or 3 AM, when someone in our room realized they were not the only ones away, one of the ladies busted out with a freestyle rap. It was so funny, as we had all been lying there for hours in silence just listening to the wind and waiting for the house to blow away with us in it.
We were supposed to get up and be ready to go head to start climbing the mountain at 5:30. At about 5:15 that morning, one of my missionary uncles let us know that it had been too windy and the decision had been made that we would not climb that day. That was 8 years ago, and to this day, I still haven’t managed to climb my mountain.
The other Thanksgiving tradition I cherish is with my family here in the US. Ever since I can remember, when we were in the States growing up, we always went to my great aunt and uncle’s house, where all of the offspring of my great grandparents would gather for a fabulous meal. It’s the one time a year I get to see a lot of that part of my family, and for someone who didn’t always know all of my family members, due to being overseas my whole life, it’s nice to have had that consistency when we were Stateside.
My great uncle passed away earlier this year, so it was the first year for my second cousin and his wife to host the gathering. We sure missed him, but the gathering was still really special. I always enjoy the day catching up with relatives and hearing about what God is doing in their lives.
I will always treasure the Thanksgiving season because of these great memories and traditions I hold dear. I have always had a family to celebrate it with, whether we were related by blood or not. I have always made wonderful memories, and look forward to continuing to do so for many Thanksgivings to come.
And maybe someday, I’ll get to climb my mountain….
