Thanksgiving Crumbs

Happy Thanksgiving!  

I hope your experience this past week was at least as emotionally and spiritually satisfying as ours. Let me tell you about it: 

We came to Australia from Japan nearly 30 years ago.  I remember my initial culture shock at finding that this was definitely “Not” America. 

America was founded, at least partially, by people deeply religious and wanting to build a place where they could live out their faith with a freedom they didn’t currently have. 

The first European settlers to Australia, on the other hand, were for the most part convicts who would probably have preferred to be anywhere BUT here. 

But the years have passed, and now I think both Americans and Australians can point to a God-blessed heritage. We share a similar history in that the indigenous people provided help to those first poor settlers whose ignorance would have proved tragic had it not been for their help. The Pilgrims had no idea how severe the winters could be, nor how to find and cultivate food in this new environment. In Australia, stories are told about the Aboriginals who, seeing the newcomers building a town on a floodplain pointed to the tops of the trees around them and explained that every year the floods come and cover everything in sight. 

But here is the place where Australian and American history take separate paths. The first Australians didn’t necessarily credit the Hand of God in their survival, and so the concept of a “Thanksgiving” celebration was slow in coming. 

 I know I’m over-simplifying the history books, and I’m sure the “Glass Half Empty” crowd would be quick to bring up the more unfortunate events that also make up our heritage. But that doesn’t change the fact that most of the people who come around our table in this season will make it a point to express their thankfulness for all God has done.

Our celebration started this week on Wednesday with a huge Thanksgiving dinner put together with the help of our Aussie Bible study friends. As we sat around the table, I started by explaining our roots, as I have just done for you.  All of us around the table had stories to tell, such as one from our friend who said that her multiple great grandmother had been ‘transported’ from England because she stole a lady’s handkerchief. She certainly wasn’t thankful for the experience, but two hundred years later, her ggggreat grand daughter, my friend, praises God for bringing her here.  

As we continued to talk, we realised that the common denominator is that everyone at the table was thankful.  To God, to our families and to each other.

Our hearts really swelled because our daughter, who’s been on her own journey lately, and understandably a bit distant, offered to come down and help me cook.  It was such a joyful reunion and made the day all the sweeter. And it made my ‘Thanksgiving’ all the more fulfilling.

On Thursday, Tony and I took off on a 1000 kms (650 miles) roadtrip to Sydney to be thankful again, this time at the wedding of a child we first met when he was 7 months old.  We oriented his parents to go to Jordan as missionaries.

Long story short, they immigrated to Australia to do the same work, but in a less volatile environment, about 20+ years ago.  Now their son Caleb, is marrying a lovely girl from the Philippines.  Small world you think?

To top it off, on the way to Sydney, driving through the “back blocks” rather than the main highway, we stopped off at a small country town to find something to eat. There were two watering holes at which we could dine, the pub or the ubiquitous Chinese restaurant.  Again, think “Immigrants”.  Most towns in Australia have an authentic Chinese restaurant.

We followed a family in, smiled and sat down next to their table.  When we were finished, curiosity got the best of me, so I asked my quintessential question, “I don’t sense you were born here”.  

They smiled and replied, “Oh no, we are Ugandan!”  

And so the conversation continued., we discovered that they had fled Idi Amin’s Uganda around the same time we were living safely in Zambia.  As Providence would have it, they made it to Australia and successfully settled in this Outback town that is probably not much different from the home they left. When they heard we were missionaries, there was a great explosion of , “Hallelujah!” and “Praise the Lord!”.  We talked a bit more and got ready to leave, but not before exchanging names.

The adult boy with them (their son from Uganda) is named Caleb, the same name as the groom we were traveling to meet.

Again, I say, isn’t God creative?  Giving us a feast of good food  and good friends in the most far-away of places.  Next week I may explore some thoughts about a cheerful sign I saw tacked up on a fence in front of an old house, announcing the company it was representing, “Lifestyle Demolition.”

Stay turned and have another piece of pie.  

Marsha