The Thanksgiving table must be earned.
You can’t cajole it, can’t coerce it,
Can’t take a shortcut to deserve it.
This table is not just a meal,
It’s the hearts that made it real.
The table can’t be bought with gold,
or empty words and promises sold.
It’s built in the trenches, with trust and time,
In the sleepless nights, the uphill climb.
This table is sacred, it’s not just a spread,
It’s the story of love, not living with dread.
It’s earned when you listen, when you stay,
When you choose the hard path, come what may.
You get to this table by showing up,
With loving care, lifting up.
In rolling up your sleeves,
And putting your heart in the weave.
It’s in the hugs you gave without end,
It’s in the way you fought to mend.
The moments you kissed those salty tears,
And stayed through the doubts, the pain, the fears.
That’s what earns you these hands to hold,
The mouths to feed, the stories retold.
The genuine joy in their eyes,
And warmth that no storm can disguise.
You can’t force your way to these smiles,
They’re born of walking a thousand miles.
Of building, breaking, and building again,
Of knowing the value of family and friends.
So, when you’re here, know what it means—
It’s not just a meal; it’s what love redeems.
It’s trust that grows in steady streams,
Shared hopes, hurts, and dreams
This table is earned, with effort and heart,
It’s the place where healing, wholeness start.
So give thanks, not just for the feast,
But for the love that makes it all complete.
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