“November is one of the best months of the year. It is the harvest in the northern hemisphere, the crops are in, the dead limbs have been cut into firewood, the alarm clock goes off in the dark, and for the first time all year people actually consider wearing orange. Can you arrive at the first day of November and not start thinking about Thanksgiving? Turkey, tarts, Jello molds, fat walnuts, and your own special pumpkin experiments (maybe this year they will even be good ☺)
This year Spring came late and the summer lingered long. As a result, this November we still have summer dragging her bags out the back door with winter all ready coming up the front steps. Lately we’ve been languishing under quiet skies with occasional odd ball thunderstorms flashing well beyond our shores, where the white heat of the lightning is reflected off the smooth skin of the sea. It is so intensely good to live here, where even the air tastes like it should be served in a glass.”
I wrote those words seven years ago, and they are as true today as they were then. This year we are suffering lingering drought as the Islands just north of us are caught in periodic deluges, and this seems impossible to those of us who wish life to be fair. We are the agricultural Island where rain is the most vital, and the heat of the volcano rages under an empty sky while the healing rains seem to snicker and turn away at the Alenuihaha channel. Pity is not one of mother nature’s characteristics, of course.
Today we were invited to join a funeral at the beautiful Davies Chapel, snuggled into the lower slopes of the Kohala Hills. The chapel was lovingly made of rough hewn concrete and great forest logs hewn into graceful beams far overhead. Hanging in space, either descending or ascending is a simple ohia cross to remind us that God’s child is always on the bridge between us and heaven and that He suffered so that we don’t have to. In this place of hope we made our funereal peace with the loss of a wonderful woman who had devoted her life to the enrichment of Waimea’s children. In doing so she enriched our community in ten thousand ways. Because we are village people we saw that happening and were grateful.
The good preacher, Father David Stout, chose an Easter theme, and we were buoyed up to think of the better life she is enjoying as a spirit. It was good to think of our gathering there as being a great send off to a beloved friend going on a trip to the very heartland of miracles. Yet, it was November, the season of thanks, and each of us was really giving thanks for the many gifts we have been given by a devoted teacher who took our hands, spoke to our hearts and somehow let us know that each and every child is the hope of the world.
After the service a crowd gathered in the dappled shade of the spreading eucalyptus trees as the colorfully dressed children, released from the grip of their parents, swirled like birds between the desserts and the grown-ups. Young men and women here and there edged up to old-timers and introduced themselves as so-in-so who used to be the kid down the block or the girl who sat in the back of the class. Old faces would beam with surprise and delight at the sight of our grown children so strong and beautiful before our eyes. And stories were told with laughter ringing in the air just like the chapel bells had rung out over the tree tops when the service began.
I spoke with the preacher as we stood at the edge of the milling crowd. He has come to us from far, far away, where churches soar into the sky and are filled with stained glass and cathedral music. In those great structures you feel the majesty of belief moving in the hearts of men. We looked at our Waimea people and marveled at their beauty and obvious caring for each other across every walk of life. This is the month of Thanksgiving, and being grateful is the single most important thing that you can do to bring happiness to your life and the lives of those around you.
Hundreds of years ago a small band of pilgrims clung to an icy shore. There was a raging winter sea behind them with no hope of returning to their villages and friends. Before them lay a dark and tangled wilderness full of unknown beasts and wild-looking native people they could not understand. Many had died just trying to get this far! They gave thanks for what they had. They gave thanks for the promise of tomorrow, and they gave thanks for the child on the bridge. That is how Thanksgiving came to be.
May you prosper and share your good fortunes!
If you know anyone who wants to have this level of meaning in their lives, encourage them to join us in Waimea where their eyes will see the stars sparkle at night and their legs will rejoice in heart-stirring walks through our gentle pasture lands.
