The early Tognetty/Woolsey stuffing debate always revolved around sage. To sage or not to sage? That was the Thanksgiving conundrum.

(Oh: and to cornbread or not to cornbread? The T side of the equation prefers a pure bread approach. The W side views cornbread as purebred, what with hailing from true country roots and all.)

The T side won. Our stuffing contains neither cornbread nor sage. Doesn’t stop me from stuffing myself with it, however.

(My brother-in-law makes a mean oyster stuffing. Which is basically oysters and bread and cream. With ingredients like that, what’s not to like?)

Stuffing lives a roundtrip life of verb and noun on Thanksgiving: I’ll be stuffing the turkey with stuffing before I’m stuffing myself with the same. At which point it lands as a voluminous adjective: I’m stuffed.

Thanksgiving and being stuffed are joined at the hip. But few of us appreciate this year’s stuffing recipe.

We’ve been stuffed with the loss of friends and family. The loss of jobs and income. 

No family celebrations and proper funerals. No grieving and greeting with hugging and holding. No worshiping together in person without having to guess the face behind the eyes.

I’m stuffed. What about you?

Perhaps this Thanksgiving God deserves thanks for the things we don’t have right now but would love back soon. Thanking Him for what was…and what will soon be…that we’re currently missing. The face-to-face gatherings. The sneezing without fear. The traveling across states and oceans unfettered.

Jesus knows your stuffing. He knows your sorrow and sadness. Your disappointment and depression. He’d love to stuff you with joy instead.

Share with Jesus today all of the loss this year has brought. Write it out. Name it out. Give it to Him.  Rest in how He has claimed you as His. 

Receive the promise of His love for you and the certainty of His grip on you. He’ll never let you go.

Even if the stuffing is missing cornbread and sage.