I was a seventeen-year-old freshman in college, away from home for the first time in my life, when I found out that our dorms would be shut down for Thanksgiving. It was just a few days before the holiday and to be honest I wasn’t initially alarmed because I didn’t understand what this meant. “Shut down” as in the cafeteria would be closed? No access to the computer lab or laundry facilities? “No problem,” my roommate and I thought to ourselves. We figured we’d stock up on enough pre-packaged food to get us through the four-day weekend and watch the Macy’s parade together on the television set propped up by our mini-fridge.
It turned out that “shut down” meant something far more problematic. Like, everyone has to leave, and the building gets locked up. “You’re not allowed to stay,” I remember one of the other students on our floor saying. He was a local and apparently far more up to speed than we were on how this whole college thing worked. That’s when my heart began to beat faster and I felt a knot in my stomach. Neither my roommate nor I could afford to fly home to Los Angeles from Boston, especially on such short notice. There was no money for a hotel either. We hadn’t gotten to know anyone in the city all that well yet. Suddenly the place that had come to represent freedom and independence left me feeling small and helpless.
After some anxious, tear-filled phone calls home and to university administration, we shamefully walked to the end of the hall and knocked on the door of our Resident Assistant Ana, hoping she could give us a name or the phone number to somebody who could help us find a place to stay for a few nights. She listened patiently to our story and without thinking twice said, “Why don’t you come home to my Mom’s place in Rhode Island?” She could tell I felt embarrassed to be in this situation and I certainly did not want to impose on her family. But before I knew it, Ana had given us all the details about which bus to take and graciously arranged to pick us up from the station. Within minutes she had effortlessly created space for us.
My roommate and I spent that Thanksgiving huddled up in a tiny apartment in Pawtucket, Rhode Island with Ana, her brother, and their mother who spoke very little English. We sat literally knee-to-knee around a makeshift table sharing stories, laughing, and feasting on the family’s native Portuguese foods. For three nights we slept peaceful and warm on piles of blankets haphazardly placed on the couch and the floor, three thousand miles away from the comforts of home and our loved ones. And to this day that holiday stands out as one of the most meaningful to me because strangers who didn’t have to, lovingly created space for me.
Scripture reminds us in Matthew 18:20 that where two are gathered in God’s name, He is there. The beauty of Thanksgiving is God’s presence. That He chooses to be close to us is the gift. For five strangers in a tiny apartment, huge families around beautifully decorated formal dining tables, worried loved ones in hospital rooms, single parents, grieving spouses, and employees who can’t get the day off from work, He is there. He creates space for our hearts to be near His own, and in doing so exemplifies how we can do the same for others. This Thanksgiving, may we honor the Maker over all He has made and offer thanks for the Giver above all that He has given.
Carrie Joy(ful) 