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Last Thanksgiving I wasn't just the third wheel, I was the eleventh. I was at my parents' for the weekend and it was my mom and dad, my sister and brother-in-law, my grandmother and grandad, my grandma and grandpa, my sister's mother-in-law and father-in-law — and me. Basically couple, couple, couple, couple, couple, and Camerin.

My parents had put as many leaves in the table as they could find, bless them, so at least I wasn't stuck at some lone kids' table — where people in my family usually sit until they marry and graduate to the "adults' table." (At the rate I'm going, I fear they may have to add the stipulation of going on Medicare as a means of "graduation" so I don't get stuck at the kids' table for all time!)

After stuffing ourselves with, well, stuffing and turkey and the like, we played our usual game of Scattergories (the only board game my parents own), with the most logical teams — couples. Mom came to my rescue and retired to the kitchen to get a jump-start on the dishes and graciously offered me my father as a partner. Considering we weren't nearly as in synch as the other til-death- do-us-part teams we didn't do so bad.

After the game, we pried Mom from the kitchen and settled our overstuffed bodies onto every sitable surface in the living room. To allow my sister and her new husband to create a few traditions of their own, my mom had prearranged for them to have the floor at this point. They led us in a round of thanksgiving, a great way to get to know the new faces in our midst and to commemorate the main point of the day (besides the ever-popular food and football!).

My gregarious brother-in-law, Bob, started — and, as to be expected, was most thankful for his new bride. His introverted, now-blushing bride simply seconded his appreciation of their new union. In a move that nearly brought us all to tears, my usually quiet grandpa quoted a love poem and told us he was most thankful for my grandma, the woman with whom he's shared more than five decades of living and who's slowly slipping away into the insatiable shadow of Alzheimer's.

Looking at this aging, yet faithfully loving couple, the hand- holding newlyweds nearby, and the rest of the happy couples I'm blessed to call family seated around me, my plans to say I was most thankful for a recent vacation to Germany changed. Suddenly I wasn't the singled-out member of the family, I was the awe- struck spectator — and beneficiary — of a room full of faithfulness and love.

And suddenly it was my turn.

Never one to think well on my feet (that's why I'm a writer!) and caught up in the swell of bittersweet emotions, I stammered out something about being most thankful for the examples of godly love and faithfulness seated around the room — then burst into tears. (I do this so easily, I think it may be one of my spiritual gifts.) My grandmother handed me a tissue (don't they always have these in hand?), my sister's pragmatic in-laws started squirming, and Mom once again saved the day by quickly taking her turn next.

Dabbing my eyes and composing myself, I listened to the rest of the group's thoughts and thanks. I was dreadfully embarrassed by my uncontrolled emotions, until my dad mentioned that the combined total of the marital commitment in the room was somewhere upwards of 160 years. It hit me right then that these people were experts at for-better-or-for-worse and had way big hearts, making them well-equipped to handle my little emotional outburst — and all my other countless quirks.

Soon the thanksgivings were through and we were all happily snarfing pumpkin and pecan pie. As I sat in this sea of couples, chatting and laughing, I sent out one more thanks — this time without words or tears — directly to the One who gives all things worth being thankful for, that maybe I wasn't so alone after all.

Blessings!
Camerin Courtney

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