A Quiet Thanksgiving

First light is an amazing time of the day.  Yesterday, from a tree stand north of Kechi, I watched darkness give way to a soft morning glow and the darkened images below emerge into distinct sentries of the woods.  Watching ever so carefully and keeping quiet in the stillness, I saw birds begin to bustle and stir.  The trees began to produce their shadows as I sat there, waiting. 

I thought, “What would it be like to live off of the land?”  How different our outlook if our sustenance were to be drawn directly from the earth.  At any moment, I could climb down from my perch and head to the provider of Egg McMuffins.  But, what would life be like if I did not have that option?

The hunt would not be a mere pastime but a necessity, for protein does not arrive neatly packaged.  If the hunt succeeds, it is not a triumph of dominion but a quiet and respectful exchange. Living off the land teaches humility; it teaches balance. Take only what you need.

And when the sun dips low and the stars begin to puncture the sky, you gather not around a television or glowing screen, but a fire. The faces you see are not distant relatives on a video call, but those who work the land beside you. Your gratitude is not for abundance alone, but for the very struggle to create it, for a God who loves you and desires to provide your every need.

A Thanksgiving on the land is quiet, simple, raw. It is not the noise of crowded kitchens or bustling shopping malls. It is the whisper of wind through bare branches, the crackle of firewood, the distant call of an owl. It is the unvarnished truth of living, of working, of surviving together. A reminder that the greatest riches are not bought, but grown, gathered, and shared by God’s grace and His provision.

The Lord is my strength and my shield;
    my heart trusts in him, and he helps me.
My heart leaps for joy,
    and with my song I give thanks to Him.

Happy Thanksgiving!