This Thanksgiving held something sacred for me—something I knew my heart had been needing.

The day before Thanksgiving, God surprised me with a single pink iris bloom.

I had lost all of my labels in my move home, so I didn’t even know what color it would be let alone the category of iris it is.

But He did.

And He knew pink has always been my favorite. Turns out the iris is Concertina.

Then on Thanksgiving Day, a second bloom opened.

It felt like God was whispering:

“I see you. I know you. And I delight in your joy.”

Scripture tells us that He rejoices over His children and takes pleasure in our happiness—and that’s exactly what it felt like.

As if He wanted me to know that even the small things that make me smile matter to Him.

This year was the first time since 1998 that my family gathered at Uncle Keith and Aunt Patti’s house for Thanksgiving.

After my nanny (my grandmother) passed in 1999, those gatherings quietly stopped. To this day I don’t know why.

But this year, we were back. And it was also my first year being home for Thanksgiving in a long time. I soaked in every bit of it that I could.

As a kid, I never noticed the land, but now?

Oh my goodness. I notice everything.

The quiet. The stillness.

The way peace seems to settle on you like a warm blanket.

Being on the farm with my aunt and uncle felt like breathing again. Like my soul finally exhaled…and in that moment I felt like that 10 year old girl again on her aunt and uncle’s farm…carefree, safe, and surrounded by people who love her.

Even though Nanny and Dad weren’t sitting at the table with us, it somehow felt whole.

Light. Hopeful

As if the memory of them wrapped itself around the day in a gentle way.

As if their presence lingered gently in the memories tucked into every corner of that place.

One day—if Jesus doesn’t come first—my aunt and uncle won’t be here.

Their laughter won’t echo through those rooms. The invitation for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners will not be an option.

The stories, the jokes, the smell of my aunt’s cooking, the familiar sounds of life in that house…one day it will all be quiet.

One day it will be an empty house. And because of that, I want to take every opportunity I’m given to be with them…and with my mom…and my soon to be step dad who is truly wonderful.

I think that’s why I’ve always been drawn to older people.

Kids have all the time in the world, but our elders…they’re the ones whose stories hold gold and I treasure most.

They are the ones who carry a kind of presence that makes us feel safe, grounded and connected to where we come from.

And one day, that safety they’ve unknowingly given me….will be gone. Not because their love will end, but because life on this side of heaven changes.

Their memories feel like gifts—little windows into a time I never lived but get to experience because they’re willing to share their “back in my day” stories. I’ve always cherished the wisdom of those ahead of me.

All of this makes me so sensitive to moments—aware of things others might miss.

Maybe this reflection will help someone else slow down too. Because the people who fill your life right now….they won’t walk this Earth with you forever.

But this Thanksgiving, I was surrounded by love, laughter and a kind of belonging I haven’t felt in a long time.

It reminded me why I treasure photography so much. A single moment—one blink in time—can be frozen and held. The moment passes, but the memory can be returned to again and again just by holding a photograph.

And that feels like a gift. ✝️

This Thanksgiving reminded me that God meets us both in the blooming and the remembering. And sometimes He tucks joy right where we didn’t expect to find it.💛🤍