"Oswald Chanbers says that obedience is what makes scripture make sense," I say. The night cold, ink black, we drive to Grammie's house. Thanksgiving. Fog hovers around the car. And we talk.
"Yeah," Craig says.
"Chambers says sometimes you read a scripture 365 times, but it's not until that 366th time that because of some obedience in your life, the meaning unlocks, and it makes sense to you," I say.
"Sometimes it makes sense to me the first time," Jane says from the seat behind me. Rum steamer in hand she cups the mug to her mouth, sips.
"Or maybe," I say, "your conscience is so sharpened to direct you to obedience that it makes sense the first time." A tray of sweet potatoes slides on the console between Craig and me. I steady it with my hand.
"Like if I do something wrong," Jane says, "I can't BEAR to listen to Revelation."
"Yeah," I say.
"So we should put that on every night?" Craig laughs.
"You can," Jane says. We snicker. She softens.
"That's a good thing, Jane," I say, "a very good thing."
A troubled conscience is a very good thing. How much worse to be comfortable with evil?
We read some things in the Bible three hundred and sixty-five times and they mean nothing to us, then all of a sudden we see what God means, because in some particular we have obeyed God, and instantly His nature is opened up. ~Oswald Chambers
5685. We gather with family for Thanksgiving. We each labor in our arenas of responsibility. Progress by small marks takes shape, another year gone by. We each share what we are thankful for. Universes of thought unfold.
5686. We find small moments of laughter in the midst of a messy house.
5687. We share treats, desserts and hors d'oeuvres, relationships weave between shared blessings.
5688. We continue to challenge our children to show grace to each other. We continue to flesh out gravity defying grace, love totally divorced from performance. It's like walking on water.
5689. We make peppermint patties from scratch.
5670. Craig gives me a package of gourmet hot chocolate.
5671. We invent an hors d'oeuvres: sharp cheddar, mashed sweet potato, and a dilly bean stacked on a cracker.
5672. We find contentment a welcome guest sitting there on our door step, down our hallways, stretched over the walls, and beneath the rugs, slipped snug between the sheets. The more we sacrifice, the more we love each other.
5673. We nearly finish a pot of burned soup, when I relent and throw out the last bit. The new pot of chicken soup tastes sweeter and saltier and richer than ever before.
5674. We pull each of the children a little closer and enjoy their shining faces.
5675. We prepare our hearts for the Christmas season.