This is an essay I had to write about my Thanksgiving this year...how do you like it? Just like the Gingerbread House one, it ended up turning into a speech...haha.
It's Not Thanksgiving!
For me, it's not officially Thanksgiving until I have taken my first bite of Thanksgiving Dinner. Because of this fact, I was struck aghast when I found out we weren't going to have Thanksgiving Dinner this year! Here's how the story went.
Sitting at my desk, I was doing my school, or in any case, pretending to do my school. I was eagerly anticipating the call that would create a major rush hour downstairs toward the kitchen. I felt drops of sweat running down my face as my excitement grew. Just as I figuratively arrived at the breaking point of my excitement, my ears picked up a faint sound. Cocking my head to the side, I listened intently. I heard a patter of feet going down the stairs. Instantly, I was on my feet. With a strangled yell that could never be written down or typed, I was plunging down the stairs in a headlong rush, knocking aside and trampling all the little kids in my way. The aromatic fragrance of the turkey coursed through my veins, egging me on. To anyone standing at the foot of the stairs, I would have appeared as a grim reaper, waving my scythe with deadly aim. As I leaped down the stairs, it felt like I was trying to go down an up escalator. No matter how fast I went, I still wasn't making progress. I was a mere vapor in the wind; everthing I did was meaningless, meaningless, meaningless...wait where was I? Oh yeah. Anyway...
About halfway down the stairs, I stopped abruptly. My teeth were still churning from chomping on imaginary turkeys, but my mouth was filled with nothing but the bitter taste of plain, foul, old air. It was as if I had just bitten into a tender, juicy, slice of turkey, only to have it vanish from the grip of my teeth before I could swallow it. The unnatural phenomenon that had stopped me in my tracks was the sight of, or lack of sight of, people in the kitchen. There was absolutely NO ONE, no, not even one, in the kitchen. My mouth fell down to my knees (again, figuratively. Cause if that had literally happened, I probably wouldn't be telling you this tale...go figure). I turned around and saw everyone (minus the kids I had trampled) gathering in the family room to sing some songs and have fellowship. I knew that worshipping and thanking God for his wonderful blessings was more important than stuffing my mouth full of food, yet I couldn't resist silently weeping in my heart of hearts. After all, it was hours past my usual dinner time, and I had been waiting for Thanksgiving all year.
But anyway, I went to sing and pray, and actually had a good time. Afterwards, I finally got to go eat, and my wonderful Thanksgiving started. And everyone lived happily ever after (except the turkey). And those kids I'd trampled...they're all fine. Well now they're all fine. Little Bobby got out of the ICU just yesterday. "But all's well that ends well" is my motto.