I’m writing this the day before Thanksgiving when I should be making my pie crust. Today is the day of putting all sorts of elegant cloths and goblets on card tables as we run out of enough legitimate table leaves to seat our second cousin once removed. And when everyone’s kitchen has been properly floured we sit down and remember that we are a people who were made for a feast. We long for the table where no one is rude and no one couldn’t come home this year. We offer our thanks to God in a shadowy distracted way; one day we will do it in fulness of joy.
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