IT MIGHT be 1942 again. Or 1814. Or maybe closer to 1967. For this enemy won't get close to planting a flag on American soil. His plans are to sow terror until the Americans withdraw from the world. And weaken America into another malaise.
This war tears at us--and our allies--even as we Americans sit down at the festive table to celebrate, to give thanks. And, as during other wars, there is a lot to be thankful for. Even as we keep a watchful eye on the enemy. Especially from 30,000 feet up, preferably through crosshairs.
Yes, it is another wartime Thanksgiving, and we give thanks first and last for our own peace and security, and for all those who provide it, and so may be otherwise engaged today--above or in Syria, above or in Iraq, above or in Afghanistan, above or in places that maybe the rest of us don't know about, and might not want to know about.
Today we think of those families where one place at the table will always be empty. And we are reminded that there are some debts that can never be repaid.
Today, inevitably, will be the first Thanksgiving away from home for some young soldier, sailor, airman or Marine. For those far away, the turkey will have an extra flavor, the flavor of home. Like the sound of a Southern accent 10,000 miles from Arkansas. We are thankful for them all, the grizzled veterans and fresh-faced rookies, the fighter pilot who loosens her helmet to reveal her curls, the "civilian" working for the CIA or NSA or FBI whose greatest successes may never be known . . . . We are inexpressibly grateful to and for all of them.
As earlier generations have done, and Americans to come will surely do, this generation confronts an historic challenge--its own rendezvous with destiny. Has there ever been a war that wasn't described as entirely new and unprecedented, and as requiring new, unprecedented responses? ("The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew and act anew."--A. Lincoln, December 1, 1862.)
Our troops in the field, in the air, on the oceans, behind consoles or holding prisoners do not need to hear fine words about the new and difficult challenges they face to understand as much instinctively. Nothing is older in war than new challenges.
Of all the things that have changed since this nation was founded--after another war, lest we forget--let us be thankful that some things have not changed, like the dedication of still another generation of Americans doing their duty. Let us pray the rest of us will be worthy of them.
Americans have grown so accustomed to our manifold blessings that we may take even Thanksgiving Day for granted. We shouldn't. Let us count our blessings deliberately. Today we are especially grateful for:
• All those who make the holiday possible for the rest of us. For the airline pilots and flight attendants, whom we've come to respect anew after September 11th. For the exhausted young intern who'll get his turkey today off the steam table in the hospital cafeteria. For harried nurses and emergency crews who might celebrate with a leftover turkey sandwich tomorrow, for emergencies don't take holidays. For the trucker who'll order pumpkin pie in the only recognition of the holiday his schedule will allow. For the tired waitress who serves it.
• The air of anticipation as folks come home for the holiday. You can almost hear the sweetest two words in the language in the rustle of every crowd at an airport or bus station or railroad depot: Welcome Home!
• The sound of the gravel in the drive as the old folks await the arrival of familiar faces. And maybe some new ones. Let us give thanks for the sound of doors opening and some children shouting and others shy and coats tossed on chairs and the feel of warm hugs and the sight of the new baby in the family. And the sudden "I love you" that catches you in the throat, and reminds you of what is truly important this day and all days. Let us give thanks for the cries of a baby in the next room right in the middle of the meal. As a preacher once said when a baby erupted in the middle of a sermon: The sound of a baby crying in the pews is the sound of a healthy church. And a healthy family.
• The bustle before the guests arrive, the hubbub of greetings when they do, the same stories improved on every year, and the arguments over just exactly when something in family history happened and why.
• The peace that descends at the end of the day when the guests depart and all the rituals--from grace before dinner to the football game after--have been fully observed. Let us give thanks for the ways in which all families are alike and each is unique.
• Friends who make life sweet in the good times, bearable in the bad, and who, because they stick by us when we don't deserve it, teach us true grace.
• The presence of the past around the table--in the faces of the old, in family stories, in familiar recipes, in the voices of those who taught us the lay of the land, and in the almost unbearable sweetness of memories of Thanksgivings past.
• The labor that goes into Thanksgiving and produces such delectable results. Let us give thanks for the Groaning Board: for turkey and dressing, for cranberry sauce and yams, and for pies--pumpkin and mincemeat and Karo nut and sweet potato. Yes, we'll save room. We always save room.
• Long drives to the old folks at home through the night-turning-dawn. Let us give thanks for leaving and for arriving. For country breakfasts and juke boxes and cowboy hats and denim and mamas and papas and young 'uns. For the look of two-lane highways twisting through the Ozark hills in the early morning. And for the long ribbons of blacktop stretching forever through the flat, rich, green Delta, where you can see the immensity of the sky--if only you will remember to look up.
• The names of people and places. For girls with two names. (Bailey Lynn, Bobby Sue.) For nicknames for the boys. (Bubba, Boo.) For the names of Arkansas towns. Smackover and Hope. Pine Bluff and Flippin and Delight. Little Rock and Big Rock Township, Natural Steps and Toad Suck and Pickles Gap Village. Don't forget Calico Rock and Snowball and Standard Umpstead. Let us give thanks for Friendship, Amity and Romance; for Sweet Home, Welcome, and Needmore; for Evening Shade and Morning Star. Why, Arkansas even has a Ralph, Waldo and Emerson.
• And finally, we're thankful for you, Gentle Reader, for whom we write and report, and for the Providence that has preserved us, sustained us, and has let us all reach this day together. A good appetite to you!
Editorial on 11/26/2015