Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow

Bright and early Thanksgiving morning, the tables are prepared for the guests.

A work in progress nearly done!

Our dear girl preparing food in the kitchen.

One of the finished place settings.

The delicious brownie bites Aubrey made, dipped in chocolate and garnished with candy corn!

 Some of the cooks and dish-washers...there were more, but they escaped the camera.  :)

The menu was alarming to look at if you were attempting it alone, but together, the army of Lenz's and guests produced a prodigious feast.

Lively conversation flowed freely and I think that by the end of the day nearly everyone's face was ready to crack.

The small but formidable young man on the right was largely to blame for this.  Ryan, the youngest and most animated personage present, kept us all in stitches the greater part of the day. At one point, he tramped into the kitchen armed with gloves held on high and instructions from Aunt Debi to announce solemnly to his Mama, “I’m wedy to ‘ash dises.”

The men adjourned to the basement for the greater part of the prep time so as not to hinder in the delicate task of arranging the food so that it was both hot and on the table in good time.

The climax of Thanksgiving is that moment when the noise is hushed as the last dish safely lands in its place on the laden table.  The cooks sigh in relief as the last task is accomplished, and everyone sighs in expectation.  In this moment we freely come in humble gratitude before our Father in heaven to thank Him for inumerable blessings.

Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder talks about Christmas, but the way she writes is applicable and unforgettable.  I always think of this whenever we come to Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner: “Almonzo bowed his head and shut his eyes tight while Father said the blessing. It was a long blessing because this was Christmas Day. But at last, Almonzo could open his eyes. He sat and silently looked at that table…He looked at the fat roast goose, the drumsticks sticking up, and the edges of dressing curling out…He looked at the big bowl of cranberry jelly, and at the fluffy mountain of mashed potatoes with melting butter trickling down it. He looked … at the golden baked squash, and the pale fried parsnips…He swallowed hard and tried not to look any more. He couldn’t help seeing the fried apples-‘n’onions, and the candied carrots. He couldn’t help gazing at the triangles of pie, waiting by his plate; the spicy pumpkin pie, the melting cream pie, the rich dark mince oozing from between the mince pie’s flaky crusts. He squeezed his hands together between his knees. He had to sit silent and wait, but he felt aching and hollow inside. All the grown-ups at the head of the table must be served first. … At last Almonzo’s plate was filled. The first taste made a pleasant feeling inside him, and it grew and grew, while he ate and ate…”

Of course Thanksgiving would be incomplete without target practice.  The men had our valley ringing with shots for about half an hour.

Thank you to everyone for a wonderful Thanksgiving!

I believe we can truly sing:

Praise God from whom all blessings flow

Praise Him all creatures here below

Praise Him above ye heavenly host

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Gost

AMEN