I don’t remember exactly how the tradition began, or where I got the idea, but for the last ten years or so, our Thanksgiving table has included a small dish filled with uncooked kernels of corn. It sits there quietly as we enjoy our feast, waiting for our bellies to be filled and the laughter to subside. 

As we near the end of the meal, we pass the dish all the way around the room, each person taking five small, hard kernels in their hand.

The room gets quiet as we look to the head of the table, where the holy event will begin.

My husband begins, “I’m thankful for my beautiful wife, and our marriage which gets sweeter each year.” He drops one kernel of corn back into the dish, and passes the dish to his left. 

“I’m thankful for the opportunity to study here in America,” says an MBA student from the local University, adding a second kernel to the dish. 

The 12 year-old to his left gives thanks for basketball, or his best friend, or a warm bed to sleep in.

Next is a young woman I met recently at the coffee shop, who gives thanks for “new friends” with a knowing smile that says far more than her simple words. 

One by one the dish is passed around the room, each parent, child, friend and stranger adding their personal thanksgiving offerings to the bowl. 

Every year I give thanks for my big black van sitting quietly in the garage, the van I didn’t want to buy because it was so tall and long and ugly, but now I can’t imagine living without.

I give thanks for my husband, who has opened up new worlds to me and led our family into an exciting life of living all out for Jesus. 

One of my kernels is dedicated to my husband’s employer, who, by God’s grace, finances our feast. (At which time we offer up a toast, including, “God bless us, every one!”)

All the kids give thanks for Mom – how I cook, or play, or teach them; and thanks for how Dad takes them on dates, wrestles with them, or teaches them the Bible. 

Someone always gives thanks for the baby of the family, for his kisses, his cuteness, and his cuddles. 

The dish travels around the room five times, slowly filling up with tokens of thanks.

At some point every year, a child’s voice declares, “I’m thankful that God sent his Son, Jesus, to die for our sins so that we can be forgiven and live with him forever.”

Another gives thanks that God is a personal God, who has given us his very words, in the Bible, so we can know him as he really is.

With tears, a grown man gives thanks for how God reached down and saved him from himself when he was hell bent on going his own way.

What began as a cute little Thanksgiving tradition has become an opportunity to preach the gospel to the neighbors and strangers who have gathered around our table. 

Friends who are dear, students from the University, immigrant neighbors, or just single guys from church who need some encouragement and family time, all are invited to give thanks at our table.

The little kernels of thanks welcome them into the intimacy of our family and invite them to know the God to whom all thanks is due.

After the bowl is filled and no kernels remain in our hands, we stand and sing together a chorus of Amazing Grace, for above all, the thing we are most thankful for on this special day is the opportunity to share with our guests the amazing grace of our glorious God, who gave all to save sinners like me.