The Thanksgiving service in my town is the only one that tries to encompass everyone. At Christmas there are five choices, and in Easter week at least seven. Which means that those events can fit into one of our regular venues. But one day a year we are packed into the biggest building within our borders. 

Since it is usually the location for athletics, the transformation to a place of worship takes effort. There is a team of perhaps a hundred of varying ages who move the organ, set up chairs, play horns, sing, manage amplification, pass out booklets, coordinate fruit and canned good offerings, drive vans, and help with parking. My girls will be part of the chair brigade, as well as being altos in the choir. Each person contributes in a way that matters. Pieces of a larger whole. But my favorite part is when the twins join me as welcomers. 

It is a small thing, really, to say hello and offer to hang up someone's coat. And yet it is a lovely blast of looking a few hundred people in the eyes. Often the minutes and hours that precede stepping over the threshold involve wrangling little children into crisp dresses and shiny shoes, keeping young boys from rumpling their shirts, setting the oven to the right temperature, minding the potato water, whisking tossed pajamas up the stairs, nursing the baby, and squeezing sixteen settings at the table. Not an insignificant string of tasks for one morning. Hence the probability that at least some of those attendees will feel rushed. Annoyed. Distracted. 

All emotions that can crowd out the emotion du jour. Thankfulness. 

Which is why it is an unfettered blessing to offer to relieve them of their burdens and smile. 

"Happy Thanksgiving! We are glad you are here."