It’s Thanksgiving week here in the US, which means many people are anticipating gathering with family and loved ones—in all it’s potential beauty and angst. While I love the relative casualness of celebrating Thanksgiving, it’s not as simple as it once was.⁣

⁣For me, there is a thin layer of grief that accompanies Thanksgiving. I have vivid memories of my mom being the boss of Thanksgiving at the lake. Even though we ably filled that role, I miss my mom keenly on Thanksgiving and still feel her presence in the menu and rituals and the people gathered.⁣

⁣There are other kinds of grief that accompany Thanksgiving. For some there is grief for changing family dynamics and relationships. For others there is grief from being separated from loved ones because of distance or Covid-precautions. Still others are learning to navigate sobriety or maintain healthy boundaries in a family system but are experiencing push back or uncertain support. ⁣

⁣Then I think of our native and indigenous siblings who don’t celebrate Thanksgiving. Instead they claim the fourth Thursday of November as a Day of Mourning for the atrocities that their peoples experienced and endured following the arrival of the Europeans on Turtle Island (now called North America). ⁣

⁣Perhaps this feels too heavy for Thanksgiving week. After all, don’t we just want to have a nice dinner, say what we’re thankful for, and call it a day? ⁣

⁣Yes, and . . .⁣

⁣(With the exception of people with whom we feel unsafe . . . )⁣

⁣Creating space for additional viewpoints and narratives is an act of love. ⁣

⁣Creating space for someone to be seen and heard is a practice of gratitude.⁣

⁣What if we, in love, make space for the various layers of feelings and tender emotions people might be bearing as we gather?⁣

⁣What if we reject a desire to convert or distance those with whom we feel tension, disequilibrium, or disagreement, and instead, in hospitality and welcome, create space to consider the layers and complexities of their whole person and story? ⁣