Show Grace.

"Grace is the bridge that spans two pieces of land—often while the water rages beneath."

Many of you know that I grew up on a farm in Kansas. We called it a farm because that’s what my dad did… he farmed. He wasn’t a rancher. So I didn’t grow up on a ranch. It was a farm. And he was a farmer.

Even though he owned hundreds of cows—in pastures and feedlots, in pens and in barns—it was still a farm. He worked the ground, grew the crops, and fed the cows every morning and every night.

He didn’t wear a cowboy hat. He wore a ballcap, usually advertising a co-op or seed company. His wardrobe wasn’t starched white shirts—it was plaid, long-sleeved, cotton shirts, always untucked. His jeans were greasy and dirty from repairing his own machinery, held up by a thin leather belt with his infamous pliers holder attached.

In Kansas, that pliers holder is like a holster and six-shooter on John Wayne. It’s both a tool and a badge of honor, announcing, “I’m a working man.”

The pliers (dirty or clean) provided value in nearly every situation: tightening a bolt in the middle of a field 25 miles from nowhere; pulling a stubborn weed from a fenceline; loosening a piece of wire on a livestock gate; even pulling a tab off a soda can or yanking the tag off a new pair of Levi’s.

He wore work boots for safety and comfort. To my knowledge, he’s never owned a pair of cowboy boots. He never had a 4 door, Ford F-350 with a polished aluminum stock trailer.

He drove a used, single-cab pickup for most of my life and until a few years ago, when he “upgraded” to a used, dual-cab truck. It pulls an older cattle trailer with a permanent layer of evidence from its past passengers slung down the sides.

People in that part of Kansas are simple, friendly, and hard-working. I remember working 16 hours on my 16th birthday. They’ll drop anything to help a neighbor, yet rarely ask for help themselves—part pride (“I got it”) and part understanding that everyone else is just as busy. They’ll always find a way.

It was a beautiful and healthy way to grow up.

Fast-forward 15 years from the day I left that farm. I met a girl at a birthday party, and we started dating.

A few months later, a Thanksgiving holiday, and I found myself at her parents’ home.

There were no flies or dirty roads. No dust. No cattle wandering around a few feet from the front door.

There weren’t piles of hunting clothes or muddy work boots by the garage door.

The house was in town. I remember stepping out of the car the first time and hearing the soft movement of treetops in a light breeze—not the western Kansas, 40-mph, all-directions-all-the-time wind I grew up with.

Inside, the dinner table was organized and decorated. Candles were lit. Napkins—individual ones, not a pile in the middle of the table along with multiple forks and real glasses. There were small and large plates (one of which, I later learned, wasn’t actually a plate but a decorative “charger”) at EVERY place setting.

Everyone wore nice clothes—no grease stains, no grass stains. No messy hair from hours of pheasant hunting in 20 degree, snowy, overcast mornings.

It was quiet. You could hear yourself think.

There was turkey, dressing, gravy, salads, and more than one beverage option. Even today, I still look around for the big, steel bowl of chicken-and-noodles with paper bowls and plastic forks I remember so well from my childhood. Nowhere in sight.

So this week, as we gather with family, friends, in-laws, ex-laws, little kids, big kids, loud folks, quiet folks, religious and not-so-much… remember: they’re all human.

They’re not wrong. Just different.

They grew up differently. They have different passions, missions, histories, fears, relationships, incomes, stages of life, professional journeys, marriages, and parenting experiences.

Show Grace.  "Grace is the bridge that spans two pieces of land—often while the water rages beneath."

When much is given, much will be received.

Make the most of this time. Ask questions and listen. Be patient.

Let Uncle Rob take 30 minutes to tell a 3-minute story—that’s how he needs to tell it.

Remain encouraged and Happy Thanksgiving.

—Brian