There is something lovely about tradition. For personalities like mine, it’s nice to know what is coming next. There is a certain comfort in tradition, much like putting on that old, favorite sweatshirt, and before even putting it over your head, you know exactly how it’s going to feel once it’s on and how it’s going to make you feel.
My entire childhood, our family tradition for Thanksgiving was to drive the nine-hour trek from Indiana to Kansas to visit all of my mom’s family who we saw only once a year – twice on a good year. As a child, I absolutely detested that drive. My sisters and I fought constantly, that is, until dad found a tiny TV that he would set between the two front armrests. Push play on that puppy and all was quiet in the back. For two hours at least. And then there was that smell – the “we’ve been driving for too long, had too much fast food, and no one showered this morning except Mom” smell. I remember the day we climbed in the van after a bathroom break, and I was shocked when I realized that we were going to allow ourselves to marinate in that smell for at least three more hours. I was disgusted.
But as we pulled into Topeka, Kansas, on those Wednesday nights, and saw the diner where we were sure to order enormous shakes on Saturday, and the mall where we would undoubtedly walk around for hours on Friday but not buy anything, and the cinema where we would see a movie in an actual theater on Thursday, the nine hour drive was suddenly worth it because we were about to see our long-lost family. Then the scurried search for socks and shoes began because we all wanted to be the first ones to jump out and give Papa and Gramary Lou a hug. Oh, how the drive was absolutely worth it in those moments.
About two hours into our visit, we would get bored, and especially during my teenage years, all I could think about was going home to be with friends or boyfriends. This side of the family was quieter that us, so we had to be quieter than we were normally, and we couldn’t make messes in their immaculately clean home the way we did at our kid-crazy home. I now see this was a great experience for us to have because it forced us to be respectful when we were in other people’s homes – it was not always about us, who knew?
Then on Thursday, because we didn’t have all of our usual games and play dates, we were forced to slow down. And that was a good thing. I would read my grandpa’s National Geographic magazines and my soul was stirred to go visit these places someday; or I’d read his Smithsonian magazines and I would actually learn something for the pure wonder and pleasure of it. We would play cards with my legally-blind grandma using her “big number” cards while sipping Shirley Temples, and we would contentedly watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, ooo-ing and ahh-ing over the floats.
By early afternoon on Thursday, we’d climb into the van, which was finally beginning to return to its normal smell, and head to my aunt’s house down the road in preparation for the feast. Upon arrival, we’d hug my aunts, uncles, and cousins, and smile, and make small talk until we’d all warmed up to each other once again. The wine would get poured for the adults, and the kids would drink bottles upon bottles of sparking grape juice because we wanted to be classy, too, but had absolutely no self-control and were not legally allowed to drink the real stuff anyway. During dinner, I looked longingly, from my seat at the kid’s table, to my aunt’s hand with her painted, long nails so delicately cupped around the wine glass which sparkled with celebration, and my heart brimmed with anticipation of the someday when I could look that fancy, too.
The feasting was always followed by football, naps, and more feasting. Later all the musicians, and there were many of them, would gather around the piano to sing songs together as my aunt just played along without written music. It was in those moments, at the end of all the festivities that I felt so secure, my heart warmed by the familiarity and tradition of it all. Yet by Thursday night, I usually wished I were already back home, and we still had two days to fill before we’d be driving the nine-hour misery back home.
I’m not quite sure how it happened, but one year, I think my junior year of college, I can remember beginning to anticipate that nine-hour drive in early November, and excitement bubbling up. All the little details of our Thanksgiving traditions were suddenly like treasures that I couldn’t wait to pull out and savor once again, and yes, even the drive had new value to me because it meant all six of us were together. We weren’t young kids anymore, and I had hope that maybe we could love each other and laugh for those nine hours in the van. That year, I relished my time to just sit and read magazines and play cards and wander the mall just for the sake of soaking up the season. I even got a few sips of wine from my mom’s glass.
For the next three years, we enjoyed “the perfect family Thanksgiving” according to Hollywood. Those years were truly precious to me. Now, as I write this, I am three years on the other side – three years since my mom died, and all of those traditions and joys have changed in their appearance and in their meaning to me. The first year after my mom died, Thanksgiving marked the first major holiday without her. We didn’t travel to Kansas that year, but a dear family friend made an incredible Thanksgiving meal for my entire extended at our house, but I have to say that I don’t remember much of that day – the “firsts” are all a blur to me. The second year, Josh and I went to be with his family, since we had abandoned them for a couple years in order to be with my family for that sad season of illness and death. Again, I don’t remember much from that day either.
And now, this year, just a couple days ago, I think I got to experience Thanksgiving again. My mom’s family from Kansas all came to Indiana to be with my cousin who lives here now, and Wednesday night, they all poured into my home for pizza. The fire was blazing in the fireplace, the candles were lit, and the wine was poured, and we all laughed and cried and laughed and talked and laughed. The loss of my mom was very apparent as the Kansas family all met Jackie, my dad’s new wife, but I also observed incredible amounts of grace in those conversations as I intentionally stood back and watched for a few seconds. We were all very aware of the past. But living in this moment, this present moment, was the choice we boldly made that night.
In Mark chapter 7, the Pharisees are pressing Jesus with the importance of keeping their religious traditions, and Jesus answers them in verse 8, “You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to human traditions.” What command is He talking about? The people are twisting the laws given by Moses to make them say what they want them to say. But I wonder if we could also put it this way: the people are no longer following and honoring God and His desires for them, but are putting their human traditions above Him. When we do this, when I do this, it’s idolatry. If I hold up my traditions as more important than God and His will for my life, then Tradition has become a god to me. To cling so tightly to my traditions that I can’t surrender my life to God and His plan is idolatry. He wants more for us than that. I know that Jesus grieves the loss of my mom with all of us, but He also wants us to trust that He is doing a good thing in our midst in spite of it.
My Thanksgivings look different now, and the traditions of my childhood may be over. But what a treasure they are to me, as I remember those rich times of love, laughter, and life with people who are ever-increasingly dear to me. Loss has taught us that the people are what matter. Not the traditions. Because the traditions are great while you can keep them, but they will end one day, and what do I want to be left clinging to when they’re done – the candle that smokes when the tradition was just blown out, or the hands of the people that I have loved and still love as we remember the past, chose the present, and give thanks for every moment of both.
I hope you had a lovely Thanksgiving!
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