That time when you have people, lots of food, and lots of thankfulness for those first two things, and all the other things you’ve been blessed over the top of your head with, just like a barn brimming with harvest.

It’s that time when everything is halfway different, when you’re not home for the holiday but you remember where it is. It’s that time when you trade homemade blue cheese pizza for turkey, when you find another Canadian to drink 3-year-old Starbucks Pumpkin Spice VIAs with (that are still tasty enough to count as having something pumpkin-flavoured present), and when you catch up on that T.V. show you both watch and are miraculously at the same spot in. It’s that time when you eat soft maple cookies that your parents brought you in the summer and grin because it’s something maple. It’s that time when you get stopped on your way home by a couple Korean ladies who download an English version of their video just for you, but when you start to watch it you realize you might have a different Bible than they do and so, with a smile, you explain where you go to church and wave good-bye, whispering blessings upon them as you walk away. It’s that time that when you get home, your mind is taking in all the chatter, the crickets, the lights shining in the dark from the food cart across the street, and the now-familiarity. It’s that time when, as you enter your apartment and climb the stone steps, your hands touch the walls, blessing them and thanking God for what you have. It’s that time when your cardiac muscle (and all it encompasses that can’t be seen, but only felt), feels so stuffed that after you open your windows to enjoy the fresh air flowing with slow street sounds, those night neighbourhood noises, and that delicious smell from across the street, you just lay on your faux-wooden floor as if you wanted to make snow angels. It’s that time when you grin like a fool in the darkness, knowing that you’re a beloved fool because He has said so.

It’s that time that, whether everything around you seems itsy bitsy or ginormous, you’re reminded to say “Thank you” from your brimming heart because you know you’ve been given it. You know you’ve been gifted it, shinily and tied with a big purple bow. You know your barn is bursting with goodness, and that He promises more than it can possibly hold. You know that joy comes from thankfulness, and that’s what you want: Joy. That’s what you have and know and feel, and with practice, will continue to keep. So you say soft “thank yous” and smile.

It’s that time when things might be halfway different but entirely full.

And you’re thankful.