It would be tempting to go with the traditional "This is why I'm grateful" post this evening. But this Thanksgiving Day something else is on my mind.
I spent most of yesterday writing a story for the Florida Methodist News Service about the Military Support ministry sponsored by a church in Oviedo, near Orlando. It was a good story, full with interesting detail and featuring the usual cadre of dedicated Christians working their hearts out to serve others in the name of Jesus.
Something one of the women said touched me, so I repeated the line to Rebekah while we were in the kitchen together, working on dinner. Suddenly my eyes filled up with tears. I felt it coming, I tried my hardest to tell the story objectively - but I couldn't help it, I flat out cried.
It was just a simple vignette, but somehow the story I was sharing overwhelmed me. I was telling Rebekah about Liz Whitley, the support group's organizer and prime mover. She has visited a rehab facility that works with service men and women who have lost one or more of their limbs. She was profoundly moved by the what she saw there and told me about one of the young men she was privileged to visit: