The news is daily warning us of the impending spike in COVID cases. We have COVID positive family members, so we did not gather at my sister’s as is the norm for Thanksgiving. The after Thanksgiving spike forebodings sent me barreling back to old, old memories of my first Thanksgiving after divorce twenty plus years ago.

Post-divorce today looks like a scar on my knee, reminding me of the tragedy, but I barely notice it anymore. This week, I’ve revisited that anxiety-ridden first family gathering after divorce when my bleeding wound was still seeping. The scab of healing had barely hardened. Our family members are scattered all over the country and world. Therefore, an assortment of configurations intentionally converges at my sister’s large accommodating home each year.

I both expectantly and fearfully arrived at this annual reunion. I expected the warm re-connections on which I could depend. The welcoming open-armed hugs solidified in me that we could endure together as a family in synchrony, despite broken off pieces. Yet, I was fearful of the unknown. How does one treat the first divorce in a family? How do we manoeuvre in this foreign territory?

Love triumphed over fear! My sisters danced in synchrony around me making sure they didn’t bump up against my wound, but still touched me with tender healing. My boys were absorbed into the raucous cousin comradery and were soothed by these enduring familial relationships.

So, my scar is there as a reminder to be thankful for a tragedy that healed me and brought me to the best half of my life! I’m truly thankful.



Who is on the receiving end of your healing touch this season?

He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their wounds.

Psalms 147: 3

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