By Cathy Hird

Thanksgiving is a holiday I love. Family gathers for laughter and a chance to catch up. The kitchen is warmed by the oven, and the rich aroma of roasting turkey fills the air. Outside the cool air and brilliant leaves makes walking glorious. And after a busy September, the extra day off gives us an opportunity to slow down.

There is, however, a Thanksgiving tradition that I do not much like, and that is the idea that we need to stop and count our blessings. This action does not feel thankful to me.

Thinking about adding up the good parts of life reminds me that there are people for whom life is really difficult, people who struggle in darkness on an uphill road. In a time like that, trying to name blessings can make a person discouraged. If your count of blessings is two, are you doomed to unhappiness?

What if to raise the count and make yourself feel better, you start counting smaller and smaller things--you tell yourself that arthritis does not hurt everything in your body because your ankles are not bad; parenting is not so hard because you managed not to fight with your teenager one morning last week. Counting little things may point out that it is not all bad, or make you feel the trouble really is huge.

I acknowledge that counting our blessings can be helpful. It helps us take stock. Sometimes we focus on the challenges and forget the things that have gone well. Sometimes the darkness and pain are all we can see, so that it helps to name the blessings, the good things in life, the moments and people that spark joy in us.

However, when we write a list of the things that have gone well, we also become aware of what we cannot write down. We appreciate what is on the list, but there are some dreams that are not yet fulfilled. There are some longings that are far off, out of reach. We try to focus on what is and appreciate that, but as we make the list, we can become painfully aware of the things we cannot put on it.

Even if the process does help us to give thanks, even if we can focus on the good, the whole process feels materialistic to me. We add up all the stuff in our lives. Yes, I know that we are not counting things like cars and clothes; we are naming family who love us, circles of friends we are part of, accomplishments and activities we enjoy. Still we are counting them, making them objects of our thanksgiving.

It may feel like a subtle distinction, but I think there is a real difference between giving thanks and sharing joy. In the gatherings of family and friends last weekend, in the food we shared and the conversations that caught us up with each other's lives, there was relationship. There was a mutuality that acknowledges the web of connection rather than just me giving thanks for you.

Which brings me to another tradition of the season: the thanksgiving food drive. The mantra is too often, "as you give thanks for what you have, remember those who do not have enough." The lecture is that the one giving thanks should give from the extra they have for the sake of some unknown person who has not. This mantra separates the haves and the have nots. One person is giving thanks; one is lacking.

Yes we need to be aware of all who do not have enough, enough food or enough love or enough hope. Yes it is important to contribute what we can to making life better for all in our community. But there is a difference between giving and sharing. A picture of giving can have just the giver in it. Sharing includes both people. Sharing allows the person who receives food to return thanks, or to offer the gift that they have to share in return. Sharing acknowledges that both are givers and both are receivers even if the gift offered by each is different.

For me, Thanksgiving weekend is a good holiday because it provides time and space to enjoy the goodness of life. It is also a time when we can practice sharing, the actions that encourage mutuality and strengthen the web of community that binds us all together.

Cathy Hird is a farmer, minister and writer living near Walters Falls.