We were on our way to Garner State Park. It was after church, so my wife packed a lunch for the drive out. Everyone was enjoying each new treat until my youngest daughter discovered the Mint Milano Cookie she was eating would be her last. Her wail was heartrending. At two and a half-years of age, she knew the decibel limits allowed in the car, but she was distraught. Her sorrow knew no bounds.
As I turned to reason with her I was astounded to discover her mouth was full of cookie. It's hard to cry with your mouth full of cookie. I thought, "What's this? Your taste buds are slathered in scrumptiousness while your mind is roiling for want." Weekly sermons make me mindful of illustrative material. I knew human nature was unveiled - we spoil good moments fearing future events.
During this time of National Thanksgiving, we can miss the pleasure of a thankful heart. Like my daughter we can miss joys of the moment worrying about the future. Likewise, past regrets can spoil good times. I'm speaking now in the comfortable offices of KQED. Most of you are listening from comfortable homes or comfortable modes of transportation. Our moments are mostly pretty good. I will return to a household where preparations are being made for a Thanksgiving celebration with family and friends. I have helped others to obtain rich fare for their tables. I live in a country of magnificent abundance and a spirit of giving that blossoms especially well in this season.
These examples are just a few of the blessings afforded to us as Americans. Abraham Lincoln was right to establish the 4th Thursday of November as a National Day of Thanksgiving. In the midst of a horrible Civil War, he knew life is made worse by failing to recognize the gifts we do possess.
We shouldn't miss simple pleasures worrying about the future, regretting things that will not change or being caught up in frustration. So if that line at the supermarket gets you down, take out some Mint Milano cookies, share them with those around you and let everyone know how glad you are to live in a country where store shelves are full.