Room at the Table
Since Madison’s wedding, so many people have said “Congratulations!” to me.
Every time, I smile and say thank you. But somewhere between looking through the photographs again and wondering how something so anticipated could already be a memory, I started thinking about that word.
Congratulations on what, exactly?
There have been times and places in history when a marriage was transactional – I will give you my daughter if you give me a Hefer and an acre of land. Perhaps congratulations were for negotiating a particularly good arrangement.
Congratulations for me is that we have added an extraordinary new family member – Steven. Someone I love. Someone I trust to keep his promises. Someone who makes my daughter feel deeply loved. And with him came a whole family of people I am grateful to call ours.
So that’s what “congratulations” means to me: Your family just grew. More people to love. More people to count on. More reasons to pull another chair up to the table.
As we head into November, I’m especially aware of how lucky I am. Having people to call, a home where we can gather, and confidence that there will be enough to serve are gifts. Daily life can make them feel ordinary.
Thanksgiving gives us a reason to notice, to pause, and to act.
I love thinking about the meal, the herbs I can bring in from the garden, and the familiar stories that will inevitably be told. This year, I’m also thinking about what it means to enjoy that abundance while being more attentive to those who are living without it.
There is room for celebration and responsibility at the same table.
That feels like the thought I want to carry through November.
Gratitude research suggests there is value in both reflecting on what we appreciate and expressing it to others. I like the practical invitation in that: Tell someone. Be specific. Give them the chance to hear something you may have assumed they already knew. There is research behind this, too. A randomized study published in the Journal of Clinical Psychology found that participants who reflected on gratitude and expressed it to others experienced the greatest immediate improvements in their balance of positive and negative emotions. I like the practical invitation in that: Tell someone. Be specific. Give them the chance to hear something you may have assumed they already knew.
But I want my gratitude to shape how I treat people beyond my own family, too.
For some, Thanksgiving means planning a full house. For others, it means wondering how to afford groceries, where they will sleep, or how to get through a day that seems to assume everyone has somewhere to belong. I keep thinking about the friend who is missing their mom who always made Thanksgiving feel special, or the friend who does not have an invitation to join the celebration table because of political differences, or the friend who is caring for a loved one and is too exhausted to imagine preparing a meal.
Celebrating my own good fortune makes me want to pay closer attention to those realities. Inviting “new” friends or acquaintances to dinner, checking on a friend whose grief is still very present, even though the rest of the world has moved on. How can I support the people doing the daily work of providing food and shelter—and ask what they need.
These are things I can do while planning a meal and looking forward to having everyone together. They belong in the preparations, too.
Gardening has made me more attentive. Looking closely is how I learn what needs water, what needs room, and what needs support. I’m trying to carry that habit beyond the garden into daily life.
This Thanksgiving, I will be celebrating Steven and the wonderful family he has brought into our lives. I will be thankful for the people around our table and will try to tell them exactly why.
And as I make room for our growing family, I want to keep asking where else I can make room—in my plans, in my attention, and in what I have to share.
There is room for celebration and responsibility at the same table.
This November, I want to make room for both.
Until next time, I’ll be in my garden counting my blessings.
Donna