I can remember the first year we did it, but I don’t remember what year it was.  Maybe a decade ago.

On each table setting, handwritten on a construction paper leaf, were the words of the Doxology.  And Grandma said, “I thought we’d sing grace for supper this year.”

So we sang.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.  Praise him all creatures here below.  Praise him above ye heavenly hosts.  Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen.

We’re a small-ish family, but everyone connected by blood is musical.  Grandma was a worship pastor for years, a pianist, an organist, a choir director.  All her kids can sing.  All their kids can sing.  Everyone who married in, well, gets drowned out for the sake of the cause.

So we sang.

Harmonies came out of people naturally.  The frantic energy from meal preparation was replaced with calm, the sound waves blanketed the dining room and forced it out.

May the God who gives all good things blanket your heart with peace this Thanksgiving.

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