A Tradition of No Traditions
I should be dictating notes right now, filling out paperwork, catching up on work that I haven't been able to complete in the past two days as our week has fallen apart. But writers have to write to process things in their lives, and I have to write to process and sort out in my head the week that we've had already before my mind can settle into productivity.
10 years ago, I flew to Indianapolis to spend Scott's first Thanksgiving away from home with him and his dental school classmates who couldn't go home for the holiday. We were dating at that time but not yet engaged, hopeful that marriage would soon be in our future. Scott told me that we were invited to a Thanksgiving dinner with his friends who were Asian, and that we were responsible for the turkey.
Not ones to shy away from a kitchen challenge, we took this on with great enthusiasm and pride. We read what needed to be done and prepared a turkey in his small apartment kitchen, wrapping the thing in foil and loading it into his 1998 Honda Civic to take to the feast. Scott wasn't sure what everyone else was making; all we knew was that we had the main dish.
Upon arriving and meeting all of his friends, taking coats off and carrying the turkey in, we were told to place the turkey in the middle of an already set table. I laughed as I realized that this was not going to be the traditional Thanksgiving I had imagined. Our turkey sat in the middle of a table with beautifully prepared sushi dishes all around. All varieties of homemade sushi were displayed across the dining room table, and our turkey went right smack in the center of the feast. I saw some cranberry sauce in a dish and a type of Asian meat in another nearby dish, with a large plate of mashed potatoes at the end of the table. It was such a beautiful Thanksgiving, one that I have such incredibly detailed memories of and that I often tell others about to this day.
That Thanksgiving began our tradition of no traditions. A year later, in November, I moved to Indiana with a sparkly ring on my left hand, into a tiny apartment that overlooked downtown Indianapolis from my bay window. Our Thanskgivings from that point on have been so varied-- we traveled home for one Thanksgiving while we lived in Indiana, we invited family to visit us once or twice and served Italian food, we spent another with me working at the hospital and Scott frying a turkey out in the middle of our street for us to eat when I got off work around 7:30 that night. Our second year in Indiana we invited friends from small group to our tiny apartment and made places to sit where there were none. Last year I went on a Thanksgiving hike with a friend who led us through a yoga gratitude practice at the top of the mountain before coming home to prepare a Thanksgiving with friends from Indiana.
So this year, it should be no surprise to me that our tradition of no tradition continues.
Almost a week ago to the day, my father-in-law arrived around dinnertime for his first visit to our mountain house outside of Asheville, NC. We had done all of the preparations one typically does for a guest's arrival, but on a shortened timeline because of very full work lives for us both, we were throwing the guest room together the night before he arrived. We had just purchased a mattress that Scott picked up after work and brought home, and we thought all we needed to do was put it on the bed frame and make up the bed. I love having a guest room looking cozy when guests arrive, with the bed nicely made, a candle burning, fluffy towels on their bedside table.
Things did not go as planned as we quickly realized important pieces to this hand-me-down bed frame were missing. The main supports that go in the center of the bed under the wooden slats were no where to be found in the packaging we had been provided. So as his dad unloaded the car, he walked into a guest room with the mattress pushed up against the wall and what looked to be a construction zone in his room. Again, both Scott and I with pretty insane work days, had not had time to gather the supplies the night before to build supports for the bed. We did this as his dad was likely ready to go to sleep, but before long it was built and the bed was put together. I made up the bed with fresh sheets and a new quilt and added layers of blankets and a space heater to the room as I know how cold this old house gets at night.
About 72 hours later, after feeling like we were just getting started with his visit here, as I stressed over all of the uncooked food yet to be made for the holiday ahead and calculated in my head the time I had versus the time I needed, we were called into his room in the middle of the night and immediately knew something was wrong. We called 911 and I hopped in the car to follow EMS to the hospital, telling Scott to go back to sleep as he was the only dentist at work that day, and I knew he had some big surgeries. I felt confident that I could overcaffeinate myself and power through my day as I have done a thousand times before with lack of sleep the night before.
Upon arrival, the expected labs and tests were run, nurses and doctors bustling in and out, and, finally, a plan and potential diagnosis came together to indicate to us that he was being admitted, and that Thanksgiving was going to be a little different than we had planned. What we had planned was a Thanksgiving at home, with people from our small group who had no one to spend Thanksgiving with. I started calculating how many days I thought it would take for his health to return to baseline, assuming no complications, then knowing based on his medical history that there probably would be some, so I tacked on an extra day to my initial plan for his discharge.
And even with these calculations, what I had planned was that he would still be home in time for Thanksgiving; what I had planned was for the turkey defrosting in my refrigerator to still be placed into a pot of hot oil out in our driveway as I continued to shuffle dishes in and out of our tiny oven to keep side dishes warm. What I had planned was to watch the World Cup with my father-in-law, husband, and the couple that we were having over for Thanksgiving as we munched on appetizers I had carefully planned out that would be tasty but not fill us up too much before dinner. I set up our Thanksgiving table on Sunday, wrapping it in brown paper and practicing my calligraphy on the paper to decorate for the day. I put out place settings and was starting to sort out ingredients for side dishes, grouping them together and putting them near the baking dish I would serve it in to make Wednesday go a little smoother with preparing for the big day.
Yesterday, the complications I had added extra time in for transpired, resulting in a transfer to the step-down unit, new medications, new scans, and an unclear discharge date. I've barely had the energy to prepare meals for myself this week and ate out for all three meals yesterday. I started to realize that the carefully laid out items at home were not going to be prepared this week. The turkey, fully defrosted now, probably would still get cooked because otherwise, it would just go to waste. It will provide meals for us in ways different from what we had planned-- maybe I'll shred it after cooked and make turkey salad, or maybe I'll slice it up and use it for sandwiches for next week. Maybe I'll make turkey enchiladas with it or make turkey pot pie for my mom who is coming next week to watch our dog and home while we are traveling.
And so our tradition of no traditions continues this Thanksgiving. Every year, I feel an ache as I look at everyone else's Thanksgiving posts. I want that for us someday, but our life and circumstances thus far have not made a way for that. With both of us working in healthcare, it's been hard to find time lined up for us both to travel home. And even if we did-- we already struggle through managing four Christmases at home (previously five but one has recently been eliminated), so what would we do at Thanksgiving? We navigate all of the expectations of our loved ones already at Christmas, knowing that we are disappointing some and bending to demands of others, always longing for traditions of our own someday that feel more in line with who we are and why we celebrate Christmas.
When we moved back to North Carolina, I honestly thought that we might start some new traditions for our family regarding the holidays. I hoped that maybe we would experience "normal" for once. It was not to be had last year, and it certainly is not to be had this year. And I'm mostly OK with that, except for when I scroll through my phone and see the holidays that others are having, peering in on what I imagine "normal" looks like, what it means to have traditions deeply pressed into you.
What I know is that the Lord is sovereign over our days. I know that He has ordained and orchestrated things as they are, and that despite me trying to control and change my circumstances, He is ultimately sovereign. I have learned that often, what I plan just falls apart, and what He plans is often beyond anything I could have imagined. And so while I physically do not feel rest in this season, and while I truly crave to have something that looks like a traditional holiday, I'm finding ways to lean into another year of no traditions and to rest in what God promises to us. He never promised that I would have what other people have. He never promised me that walking with Him meant a carefully laid out Thanksgiving table with all of my family gathered around it in complete harmony. He actually told me "in this world, you will have trouble" (John 16:33). But He also told me that I can take heart in that, for He has overcome the world (John 16:33).
I look forward to the feasts we'll have in heaven someday-- beautiful beyond my wildest imagination. I imagine they'll be like the wedding feasts in the Bible but grander. I imagine that they'll be like our wedding day, but better; there will be lights dangling from trees and beautiful 75 degree weather and everyone eating beneath the trees, the most delicious food they've ever tasted that is cooked to perfection. There will be laughing and joy and a spirit of love and celebration. Until then, I think I can hope for something like that here on Earth while also knowing that we are far from that home, that we dwell in a world that is broken and dark. Yet there is always the hope of what is to come, and this year, as I reflect on what I am grateful for, I am grateful mostly for friends, for family, and for a relationship with a God who carries me in seasons where I cannot hold myself up and who holds all of eternity in His hands.
xo,
C
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