The Stranger at the Table

           

We almost always had a stranger at our

Thanksgiving table. Like folks who take

in stray animals, my mother took in stray

people. With Daddy being in the Army,

we had celebrations in California, Japan,

Germany, and Georgia. Momma always

found at least one person who would be

alone on the holiday and invited them to join us. We didn’t have

many resources during those years, but what we had, we shared.

            Our visitors had a story to tell and Momma encouraged them to talk as we ate. They told about life where they were from, how he/she ended up in the Army, their aspirations for the future, their family traditions and what they would be doing if they were home. We children didn’t realize until much later in life that not everyone invites people they don’t know to Thanksgiving.

            That experience is probably the one that fostered my interest in people. My children think I am cursed with a magnetism which pulls at strangers who then seem compelled to talk to me. I see it as a blessing, maybe even a calling. I’ve learned over the years that there are lonely people everywhere who don’t have anyone who will listen to them.

            I usually encounter them while waiting in line somewhere. They are in front of me or behind me in line. We talk while we wait. Occasionally, someone will approach me in a store, out of the blue, like one woman did in the fabric department in Wal-Mart. She asked me to pray for her. I asked if there was a specific need and her story spilled out as though it had been bottled up for so long it had fermented and the container couldn’t hold it any longer. We did pray, right there in the fabrics and crafts, as two humans connected for a few brief moments.

            This poem, by Emily Dickenson, has been a favorite of mine for many years. I cross-stitched it and have it framed and hanging in my bedroom to remind me that it’s the little things we do along life’s pathway that hold the most meaning.           

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain.

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

         I shall not live in vain.             

            What Thanksgiving tradition has shaped you into the person you are today? I’d love to hear your story.

Going out with joy and open ears today-

Cathy