Day of thanks
God of yesterday, today and tomorrow, receive our prayer of hope in this Thanksgiving season. We confess we live in a time of discomfort when we seem to allow differences to divide us.
They may be religion, politics, race, family, food, sports, cars or books. Some differences are silly, but some are harmful.
Today’s holiday gives us an opportunity to recall the first Thanksgiving. A group of Indians (who brought most of the food) shared a meal with pilgrims. They had little in common, except they were humans.
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As we enjoy this season together, gracious God, may we be aware of the humanity of those we meet every day. Amen.
William W. McDermet
I am thankful this Thanksgiving because:
I won’t have to get up at an early hour to stuff and truss a slippery, unwieldy turkey.
I won’t have to iron the large tablecloth that fits well on our dining-room table.
I won’t have to wash special China dishes that have collected dust or polish silverware.
I won’t have to scrub and scour the roaster where the turkey browned, sizzled and spattered.
Most of all, I am especially thankful this Thanksgiving for my two precious sons and the beautiful, thoughtful women they married, who will make all of the above just a memory.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a traditional person. I will miss my Thanksgiving work schedule.
But, this Thanksgiving I will watch, listen, pray and eat heartily, all with a song in my heart.
I am thankful for my husband of 33 years, Larry Sr., and our two children, Larry Jr. and Chaasia.
My husband’s love and strength shined through when I was hospitalized once in March, while relocating to a new home, and then again in April.
I am thankful to God for sending you my way all those years ago, and I am looking forward to many more.
Love you, Larry M. Sr.
It is with a thankful heart on this Thanksgiving to feel equal to all other citizens and not be ostracized because of my birth history.
Thank you to the Missouri legislature for passing the Missouri Adoptee Rights Act this year, giving adopted adults born before 1941 the right to access their birth certificates.
Those born in 1941 and after who have reached the age of 18 may be able to receive theirs beginning Jan. 1, 2018.
Agencies and others that are opposed are still trying to change wording to make it more difficult. But we are standing strong for what is everyone’s basic civil right.
This is a piece of history that is a true blessing for human rights.
Happy Thanksgiving to all.
I am thankful for the millions of Native Americans who lost their lives and lands so that we may live in a country of plenty.
I am hopeful our country will at least partially honor the many broken treaties with Native Americans so that our Native brothers and sisters are no longer forced to live in the abject poverty that many find themselves in today.
I am thankful for the millions of African-Americans upon whose shoulders this country was built. It took the tragic enslavement, degradation and death of so many to launch a country with so much, and this fact still cries out for a better ending.
I am hopeful our country will fully recognize its historic debts and invest in a future where inclusion, education and jobs are freely available and encouraged for all.
I spent a night in the orthopedics ward of the University of Kansas Hospital on a busy night last week.
The staff was prompt and helpful.
My pain was at a 5-to-7 level, while my roommate’s was 8-to-9. Though he was hurting, he was always courteous and thankful. And he apologized for keeping me awake.
My night could have been much worse. Instead, I met a man who reminded me that a little kindness can ease the path for us all.
My thanks to Gary Hart, and to the staff at KU Med Ward 47.
Placing one foot into a hospital elevator recently, I was surprised to see Charles Gusewelle in a wheelchair directly in front of me.
I asked in mild shock, “Are you Charles Gusewelle?” Chuckling in that wonderfully rich voice, he smiled broadly and answered, “On my better days.”
Standing close to him, I spoke of his wonderful, beautiful words, both written and spoken, that touched my world. He smiled and left the elevator, accompanied by one of his lovely daughters, I think.
I was thrilled to have spoken with him.
Now that I read of his passing, I am asking the world: Please, if there is another Charles Gusewelle out there — one who loved the simple things of life, his family, his pets, friends, the little cabin by the pond, and can write with loving care about their deep meaning — come forward now. The world desperately needs you.
I’m buying one of his books today to keep by my bed to remind me of this. It will bring me so much comfort.
Many thanks for the special section last Sunday on C.W. Gusewelle.
I join many of his readers in lamenting the loss of such a gifted man but rejoicing that we lived in his time and were able to experience vicariously through him such wonderful places, people and critters that crossed his path.
I wept again at the passing of Rufus, as I did many years ago the first time I read it.
Rest in peace, Charles Gusewelle, and know that you made a difference in lives via your way with words.
The president-elect comes from a long line of patent-medicine salesmen promising to make wishes come true — a snake-oil remedy for rheumatism, neuralgia, lumbago, and so on.
Like Dr. James W. Kidd in the early 1900s, he is offering “The Elixir of Life,” which will grant immortality with the aid of a mysterious compound known only to himself.
Trump’s motto: Bait and switch.