Enter His gates with thanksgiving,

And His courts with praise.

Give thanks to Him; Bless His name.

For the Lord is good;

His lovingkindness is everlasting,

And His faithfulness to all generations.

Psalm 11:4-5

I live in a community called "Ebenezer". It's a word from the Old Testament that means something like "thus far the Lord has helped me". I have always liked the name because it reminds me to look back and recall God's faithfulness not only to me but to previous generations of His people.  Because God's character is consistent, the fact that he has helped me "thus far"  is guarantee that He will continue to do so.  Today, on the day before Thanksgiving, I am considering how His everlasting faithfulness should elicit my thankfulness.

Time travel with me a minute back to the first Thanksgiving.  Funny grade school plays and beautiful artwork aside, the reality of that first Thanksgiving was somber.  The pilgrims arrived in Plymouth in September of 1620 after a 65 day voyage.  Many were already sick and weakened from the voyage.  They were too late to build adequate housing before facing the harsh New England winter.  If you were one of those fifty or so left standing at the end of your first year in the New Land,  then your thanksgiving, though no doubt sincere,  would have been mingled with tears.  You would have lost half of your companions to death, very likely you would have lost a spouse or a child. 

The harvest that first autumn had been exceptional.  They would have food the next winter and they had been blessed with friends (Sqauanto and his people) to help them.*  There was cause to celebrate and reasons to be thankful, but it was thankfulness in the midst of extreme hardship.  Winter was still going to be cold.  Their homeland and civilization was still across the ocean, the bodies of cherished loved ones were still going to lie in the crude cemetary.  In fact history does tell us that these brave Pilgrims continued to face hardship.  The harvests the next two years were much less bountiful. The second Thanksgiving Day, two years later, in fact, came on the heels of a drought-stricken spring and summer when little grew.

My observation is this: I think I tend to reserve my best gratitude to God for those times when I feel like I am  "out of the woods".   That shouldn't be.  I should take a lesson from the Pilgrims and be truly, heartily thankful for God's provision every step of the way.   I want to practice a thankfulness that trusts God's goodness  and faithfulness even in the midst of difficulties.  I also want to remember to be truly  thankful for the "basics" of life that I too often take for granted.  The pilgrims celebrated because they had food, shelter and friends.  I certainly am blessed with an abundance.

*The story of how God brought Squanto, an English speaking Native American, back to the piligrims at their greatest hour of need is a masterpiece of God's goodness and providence and well worth reading.  Click the link below and scroll down to "The Story of Squanto" for a quick synopsis from Chuck Colson.

http://www.colsoncenter.org/the-center/columns/colson-files

Saturday I sat on my front porch a little while and got the faintest touch of a suntan. That's not very remarkable unless you read the date of this posting and realize that last Saturday was November 7, and I don't live in Florida. We have had killing frost already, gardens have been put to bed, most leaves have fallen, and we're beginning to think about the holidays. Nevertheless, it turned beautifully warm and sunny Saturday so after a walk I took off my jacket, rolled up my pants' legs and cat napped in the sun on the front porch. Wonderful! And probably more so because it was such an unexpected treat.

We call those warm November days that sometimes, but not always, follow the first cold snap, Indian Summer. It's a reprieve from the cold and a second chance to get those things done outside that have been neglected: Cut back the raspberries, give the field one more mowing or stack in some more firewood, things we knew needed doing but, well, you know...

Indian Summer reminds me of one my favorite verses in the Bible, Jonah 3:1 : "And the word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time" The short, quirky little book of Jonah is, to my mind, one of the funniest, saddest and most "real" stories in the Old Testament. It's the story of a man called by God to preach repentance to Nineveh, and he runs away--not because he doubts God will save them, but because he believes He will. (There's some history there between Jonah and those Ninevites) So anyway, Jonah runs into a boat which runs into storm, and finally he gets fed to a fish. Jonah prays while he is in the fish--who wouldn't-- and so the Lord has the fish upchuck Jonah on the beach (I am not making this up). And then comes my verse, and every time I read it I can almost hear God just let out a big sigh. "Now the word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time saying.." and He repeats His instructions. This time Jonah goes, he preaches, they repent, revival breaks out.

So what is it that I love about this verse exactly? Just this. Jonah blew it big time. Not some "small" little "I forgot" kind of offence. I mean deliberate, in your face, running the opposite way disobedience. He literally ran away from God, or he tried to. And rather than just washing His hands of Jonah and going to get another prophet to preach to Nineveh, God chases down Jonah so He can give him another chance to obey. That is so God! And Jonah, well, unfortunately, he is so ME sometimes.

Indian Summer. A second chance to do the things you should have done before. I'm so glad my God is a God of second chances.

For we know that if the earthly tent which is our house is torn down, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.  For indeed, in this house we groan, longing to be clothed with our dwelling from heaven...and knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the  Lord...we are of good courage, I say, and prefer rather to be absent from the body and at home with the Lord.  Therefore, also we have as our ambition, whether at home or absent, to be pleasing to Him.
2 Corinthians 5:1-9

Yesterday I went with my daughter to a cemetary just down the road from our home.  She was doing research for a project.  I went to keep her company, do some walking, and because, well, I kind of like cemetaries.  (My daughter says that's just creepy)   I appreciate the history so accessible in graveyards. With a little imagination it can be like reading a story in stone.  This man fought in Korea.  What would it have been like for a sheltered young man from these mountains to find himself  fighting a war on the other side of the world?  This family lost two little boys within a year of each other.  Diptheria? Influenza?   How did this mother survive such loss?  Did she lean on the Lord?  Did she grow bitter?    And how did this mountain boy here find himself serving in the Merchant Marines during WWII ?  Did he hear the call of the sea way up here in these hills?    Here is one where an elderly husband has preceded his wife. Her place beside him is empty still.  Is she lonely?  Ready to go on?  Does she come here to sit beside his grave?  I can only guess.
I look up and think about the fact that these same folks left other monuments to their lives as well.  Roads, creeks and farms in our valley still carry the same names etched here in the headstones.  And their descendants are still here too.  Legacy. 

My mind steps easily from speculation about their lives to introspection about my own.  I'm 46, an age that we very optimistically refer to as "midlife"   I have most likely already lived longer than I will continue live.  The invincibility of youth  is gone.  In the back of my mind I have a settled realization that it won't be so very long before I "join" this congregation on the hill.  The thought doesn't frighten or sadden me.  Not at all.  I know where I am going next, and I know it will be much better, much lovelier than even this beautiful high hill.

 No, my question is not at all about where I am going.  It's about what I will leave behind.  What will my legacy be?  I know what I want it to be.  When I die, I want to leave behind me people who know God more deeply and understand life better because they knew me.  I want to have loved unselfishly.  I want to have imparted wisdom.  I want to have served well.  I want to leave behind something much more than a headstone.   I want to leave a lifesong,  the legacy of a life lived to the glory of God.

What if I lived every day with that ambition in mind? 

Yeah, I do kind of like cemeteries.

When we first moved to our farm six years ago, one of my favorite things to do was to walk the property lines.  Though our acreage is not large, it is still more land than I have owned before.  As I walked up and down hills, crossed pasture and spring, I was exhilerated with the thought that it belonged to me.  I chose the name "Pleasant Places" for my farm.  Taken from Psalm 16:6, the name seemed to capture the gratitude I felt  at being allowed to live on and care for this piece of land.  "The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places; indeed, my heritage is beautiful to me."

Of course, those verses are really speaking of someone infintely more valuable than even the choicest piece of property.  Psalm 16:5 tells me that "The Lord is the portion of my inheritance and my cup."  If I can get excited about possessing a few acres of trees and rocks, how much more glorious to realize that I possess the Lord himself as my inheritance.  Everything I need lies within my own "property lines": His love, grace, forgiveness, hope, strength, direction, wisdom...everything.  My inheritance is sufficient because He is sufficient.

While, one day in one way or another, I will leave Pleasant Places Farm, I will never have to leave behind all that I possess in Jesus Christ.  That is my permament portion, my heritage. My inheritance is not dependent on lines on a map, not tied to earth or time.  Whether I live on a farm or in a mansion or in a box under a bridge, as a believer, I dwell in pleasant places because I dwell with Christ.

My home is Pleasant Places , literally at the moment, but figuratively no matter where the journey ends up taking me.  A little farther down in Psalm 16 David writes, "Thou wilt make known to me the path of life; In thy presence is fullness of joy; in Thy right hand are pleasures forever."   Pleasures forever.  What a promise!