One of my favorite poems was penned by the renowned children’s writer Shel Silverstein.  This poem, called Helping, from Silverstein’s 1974 collection called Where The Sidewalk Ends, goes like this:

Agatha Fry, she made a pie,

And Christopher John helped bake it.

Christopher John, he mowed the lawn,

And Agatha Fry helped rake it.

Zachary Zugg took out the rug,

And Jennifer Joy helped shake it.

And Jennifer Joy, she made a toy,

And Zachary Zugg helped break it.

And some kind of help

Is the kind of help

That helping’s all about.

And some kind of help

Is the kind of help

We all can do without.

You can ask my husband, sisters, friends, acquaintances…  I quote this poem often.  Most frequently I quote only the last six lines.  Sometimes in jest, sometimes with irony, and, rarely, out of frustration with incompetence.

So as I pondered this most recent Thanksgiving, I couldn’t help but consider the season in terms of a paraphrase of Silverstein’s poem.

Sure, I thought about all the things people named as we went around the circle listing what and who we were thankful for.  Food, shelter, (relatively for some of us) good health, safety, good schools, kind relatives, respectful differences of opinion, shared interests and good books, churches, lots of toys, sports in which to participate or bemoan losses, fine weather, and all of these in unquestionable abundance.

Those of us who can still claim a foot in America’s middle class have everything we need and then some.

But for others, the paraphrase might be more fitting.

And some kind of joy

Is the kind of joy

That celebrating’s all about.

But some kind of despair

Is the kind of despair

Some folks could do without.

I took notice of the large crowd gathered this year.  A traveling feast held at my son and daughter-in-law’s house this year, which was a departure from the traditional banquet held at the in-laws’ home.  But it was the basic core of family who always generously open their home to the diverse crew of stragglers who have no family with which to gather locally.

It was a group numbering about twenty-six.  Lots of adults, but with noise that made it sound like mostly kids!  We were Democrats and Republicans (think John McCain and Jeff Flake).  We were Christians and atheists and searchers.  All of us had at one time or another been involved in civic or charitable works, or were currently doing more of the same.

We were all aware, as we gave thanks, that we are all more than blessed, and because of that we are obliged to give of our plenty.  And so we do, not just at the holidays, but throughout the year.  To lessen the despair that some folks can do without.

I also thought about our country, about its Constitution, and about the people whom we charge with conducting the nation’s business.

Here we are also abundantly blessed.

Our founding fathers put in countless hours of hard work, blood, sweat and tears into writing the words that form our guiding documents

They anticipated almost everything one could imagine when they created guidelines to cover the unimaginable.

And almost without exception we have found our local and national officials to be the kind of help running our governments that helping’s all about.  In spite of some who believe they are above the laws of man written by the founders, we are abundantly blessed.

Thus, as Thanksgiving passes into memory and Christmas races to inundate us with consumerism and crass commercialism, I find myself not in a rosy haze of warmth and sentimentality.

I am instead and as always, conflicted in my gratefulness and my cynicism.

My overriding wish for this time of year would be that all of us who sit in the glow of plenty be introspective and deliberately thoughtful towards those who lack what we do not.

My wish would include a kinder, more generous, less self-centered approach to every aspect of our lives.

My wish would be that each of us can be the kind of help that helping’s all about.

Peace be with you.

Shalom, Namaste.