After spending a lovely, traditional Thanksgiving with our American friends that have become like family, we rode public transportation 45 minutes to our home.  I had a bag filled with a few leftovers and a heart filled with cozy, fresh memories of another holiday spent abroad.  For the rest of my countrymen, this was just another day.  They had little idea that my family was celebrating a historical moment in the history of our home country.  That, however, has been our normal for many years.

While we boarded the streetcar for the second leg of our trip home, two boys that looked to be around 20 years old were our traveling companions.  They occupied the area in the front of the car that was reserved for wheelchairs.  One was obviously the caretaker of his friend - and we speculated if he be the brother - of one who had wheels for legs.  They weren't drunk or high ... just dirty.

I normally do not use my phone when I'm with my family on public transportation but for some reason, I wanted to check my messages.  As I did, the boy in the wheelchair asked me if he could borrow my phone.  I had no hesitation in letting this boy use my phone.

A quick phone call to some unknown recipient to say he was on his way.  He then returned my phone with a gracious "Danke".

I, without thinking, asked him if he was hungry.  His sweet eyes softened and said yes.  I proceeded to tell him that I was Ameican and today we celebrated Thanksgiving.  In my bag, I had some food that I'd like to share with him:  a few slices of turkey and some fresh cucumbers and carrots.  He took my small offering wrapped in aluminum foil and stored in plastic bags as if they were being presented on fine china.  He graciously accepted and wanted to shake my hand ... and the hands of my dear girls ... and the hands of my Chris.  He then carried his bounty in his lap back to his buddy.  They unwrapped and unsealed the food immediately and ate as heartily as I had done a few hours earlier while sitting in a comfortable home surrounded by friends and family and having all I needed.

Humbling.

In between bites of food, they would glance our way and thank us, again.  As they approached their stop on the streetcar, they waved goodbye and thanked us, again.

And just like that, our encounter was over.

I was thankful for the things I have seen God do in my life while I was sitting at the white table-cloth draped table and surrounded by dear ones.  I was thankful that my friend had found real pecans when I bit into the real pecan pie.  I was thankful that I had a way home and could pay the price of the fare when I jumped on the bus to begin my journey.  I was thankful in theory.  But when those two boys began to eat ... thankfulness became real and tangible and something to grab with tight fists and believe in the deep parts of my heart.

Sometimes the good things in our lives are fluff.  We are thankful at a head level but thankfulness never quite drips down into the core ... the places where it matters.

God has been gently whispering songs of thanks in my heart.  I'm paying attention. I truly want to be a giver of thanks ... real thanks.  Psalm 26:6 - 7 made more sense to me this morning when I read it:  "I come to your altar, O Lord, singing a song of thanksgiving and telling of all your wonders."

Thursday night God provided a most unusual alter for me in which to bring my thankful heart ... a streetcar.  And this blog, as silly or insignificant as I may perceive it to be, is my attempt to "tell His wonders" to whoever may read.

Thankfulness realigns the condition of the heart.

Learning to be thankful ... really,
Christina