Thanksgiving 2020
We are on the home stretch, people.
In just over a month we will jump into 2021 and run as fast as we can. We won’t even dare to look over our shoulders, in case 2020 is behind us. Chances are we will be advised against New Year’s Eve celebrations, so maybe we’ll lean out our windows and stand on our porches and bang pots and pans at midnight as we bid good riddance to 2020, a stinker of a year if ever there were one.
And yet…
We are still here, aren’t we?
If you are reading this, you have survived the novel coronavirus. You did not die in a riot or by stepping in front of a bus or from a heart attack on a quiet afternoon.
You are breathing.
I do not intend to minimize the pain you may have endured this year. Perhaps a loved one was taken by the virus or another of the many ways our bodies fail. Perhaps you lost a business you poured your life into: a dream finally coming true, now an empty storefront. Perhaps you are worried about the long-term impact of remote learning on your children, especially those with special needs.
The list goes on and on. And my heart aches for you.
But…
You are breathing.
South Carolina, the state I called home for the first 23 years of my life, has two state mottos. One is Animis Opibusque Parati, Latin for “Prepared in Mind and Resources.” I think Mama took this one to heart, because she kept her pantry shelves fully stocked at all times, ready for an apocalypse or a famished marching band.
The other motto is Dum Spiro Spero, a statement attributed to the Roman philosopher Cicero.
It means, “While I breathe, I hope.”
I do not pretend to have all the answers. Or even most of them.
But if I wake up tomorrow (and I truly hope I do, because I think I have finally come close to replicating Mama’s dressing), I will have been given a fresh, blank page to write upon. A chance to apply today’s lessons, without wallowing in the mistakes that taught them. An opportunity to come closer to the person I am meant to be.
But this hope is not built on my own persistence. It is not about gritting my teeth and mumbling, “I think I can, I think I can,” as I strain to convince myself that everything will turn out okay.
This hope is not a flimsy thing, a paper boat adrift in a storm.
This hope endures. It infuses every breath, because it comes from the One Who breathed life into me.
Jesus Christ loves to give second chances. And third chances. And fourth, and fifth, and on and on. With each sunrise, with each breath, He offers us grace. He offers us hope.
If this Thanksgiving feels cold and hollow, a reminder of sweeter holidays in your past, please consider reading some of God’s encouraging words aloud. Retreat to your closet if you must, but do it. Talking to yourself may feel strange at first (although it comes naturally to me), but there is a beautiful mystery in the power of Scripture spoken aloud. Even my cluttered heart gets the message.
Type “Bible verses about hope,” into your search engine. Here are a few to get you started. (All are in the New International Version.)
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—kept in heaven for you… 1 Peter 1:3-4
“The LORD your God is with you; he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you; he will quiet you with his love; he will rejoice over you with singing.” Zephaniah 3:17
Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:21-23
“While I breathe, I hope.” Cicero got it half right. I hope because I know in Whom my hope is placed.
And when I stop breathing, I will see Him face to face.
