The Most Thankful Day

By Amy Grant, Nashville, Tennessee

As appeared in

I’m a Thanksgiving baby. At 2:00 a.m. on November 25, 1960, just a few hours after Thanksgiving dinner, my mom went into labor and had me, the fourth daughter.

Some years my birthday actually falls on Thanksgiving Day itself, which makes the day feel more significant…a reminder to be thankful for being alive. And I do have so much for which to be thankful. My family is at the top of the list.

I cannot remember a Thanksgiving meal that I did not share with my family. For a time in my life, we had five generations of our family alive, celebrating the holidays together. Now it’s my mom and dad, my three sisters and our husbands, 17 grandchildren, along with a few spouses and two great-grandchildren. Add in extended family and friends and you start to get the picture of the planning and preparation that goes into our gatherings.

These days, the chief organizers are my sisters, Kathy, Mimi, Carol, and myself. We divide the menu between us and share the workload…the cooking, the table setup, the clean-up afterward.

I can remember being a teenager and appreciating the good meal, but mostly wanting to eat and run, to go be with my friends. I see that same look in some of the kids’ eyes now, but not mine. I’m right where I want to be…sharing these moments and remembering years past.

One moment of our holiday that I can count on is hearing some thoughts from my dad’s tender heart. Before we begin filling our plates, all of us gather in one room and hold hands in an extended circle. Before he leads us in a prayer, my dad always says a few words to the family about the importance of the day. Thanksgiving is no exception.

Life lessons are learned in bits and pieces over time. And like a puzzle that slowly comes together, we eventually become who we are.

My parents have always taught us by example the importance of giving back. I learned a kid version of this lesson early on. Every summer our family drove 13 and a half hours to Sarasota, Florida, for a week or so of fun in the sun. The year that I was nine was no different. We arrived at the beach. We dug our bathing suits out of our bags. At some point, my mom gave me my vacation spending cash (a whopping one dollar…of course, it was 1970.) I had a pretty good idea where that money was going. Sarasota had a five-and-dime store called Klauck’s, located on the shopping circle of St. Armand’s Key. Klauck’s sold Sea-Monkeys, which were all the rage in the summer of 1970. First thing Monday morning, my plan was to buy some.

Almost every Sunday of my childhood my family went to church. Vacations were no exception. We would put on our Sunday clothes and drive to a nearby church and file in. On this particular summer Sunday, after the sermon, the collection plate was passed around. As it moved slowly toward our row, I thought about those four quarters in my pocket. Even as a child I had been taught to give back to God. It only made sense, since everything we had was a gift from him anyway. That was just a natural cycle of receiving—giving back. So, I knew one of those quarters was headed for the offering plate. That would drastically alter my vacation budget. I might not have enough money to buy the Sea-Monkeys. The plate got to me. I dug down, fished out twenty-five cents and dropped it in. Tough decision, but it felt right.

When the service was over, we went back to the place where we were staying, changed into our swimsuits and went out to the swimming pool. At some point, I got up on the diving board and looked down at the drain. Something next to it was shining on the bottom of the pool. I took a deep breath, dove down and felt around until I got it. Guess what I found? A shiny new quarter.