It seems that when November arrives, the world begins turning faster. I find myself chasing the checklist, juggling plans, and trying to prepare for every possible activity. Yet in the midst of the hurry, a quiet longing stirs—what if this year were different? What if Thanksgiving became less about what must get done and more about what God has already done?
From Survival to Celebration
In 1621, English settlers were experiencing their first harsh New England winter and barely surviving. About half their number had already perished. Still, they gathered their harvest with hearts of gratitude and relief. The governor, William Bradford, called for a celebration. Edward Winslow wrote home to a friend in England. That’s how we know something about this event.
“Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a more special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruit of our labors” (Winslow, E.)
It was a simple feast born of deep thankfulness. They rejoiced not because life was easy, but because God had been faithful. Their fields had yielded corn and barley, their labor had produced enough to see them through another year. Gratitude was not seasonal but spiritual — a chosen posture of faith.
The psalmist captures this same spirit: “Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever” (Psalm 107:1).
Gratitude, in Scripture, is not the overflow of plenty but the language of trust. The Pilgrims rejoiced because they recognized their dependence, and in dependence, they found joy.
What we now call “the first Thanksgiving” was a shared feast between two communities learning to trust one another. Winslow describes how the celebration grew unexpectedly:
“Many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation” (Winslow, E.)
For three days, the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag shared food, laughter, and peace. Venison, corn, shellfish, and waterfowl graced their tables. Music and games filled the air. It was a gathering of survivors and new allies, fragile but real, joined in gratitude for the same harvest.
Winslow later wrote,
“By these things may you see the peace and amity which we have with the natives… we entertain them familiarly in our houses, and they are friendly unto us.”
That peace would not endure indefinitely; history reminds us that alliances gave way to mistrust, and harmony to heartbreak. But in that moment, before politics and power took root, thanksgiving bound two peoples in common joy. Gratitude made room at the table.
Missing the Joy
Four centuries later, joy feels elusive. The day once devoted to giving thanks has become the launching pad for consumer frenzy. We check prices before we check our hearts. We rush through the meal, our minds already on the next deadline or sale.
And the more profound joy, the kind that springs from peace and presence, slips quietly away.
The apostle Paul’s instruction sounds almost radical in our age of hurry: “Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus” (1 Thessalonians 5:18).
When we lose the rhythm of gratitude, we lose the ability to see grace in ordinary things. We forfeit joy because we no longer pause long enough to receive it.
Our ancestors at Plymouth paused. They looked up from their labor and recognized that every ear of corn, every loaf of bread, every breath of survival was a gift from God’s hand. Their thanksgiving lasted three days because joy takes time, time to remember, to reflect, to rejoice together.
Recovering the Joy of Thanksgiving
How do we recover that kind of joy? Not by adding more activity, but by returning to attention: the sacred act of noticing. Gratitude begins when we slow down enough to see God’s provision.
1. Remember God’s Faithfulness.
Gratitude is not rooted in comfort but in memory. The Pilgrims gave thanks after famine and loss, just as Israel praised God after the wilderness (Joshua 5:10-12). When we recount His faithfulness, the prayers answered, the mercies renewed, joy begins to rise.
“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts… And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him” (Colossians 3:15–17).
2. Rejoice Together.
Thanksgiving is meant to be shared. Winslow’s account reminds us that joy multiplies around a table. Invite someone who might otherwise be alone. Tell stories of God’s goodness. Read Scripture aloud before the meal. Gratitude expands when it’s spoken and when it includes others.
3. Restore Worship.
True thanksgiving doesn’t end at the table; it lifts our gaze to the One who provides. When we begin to thank God, something shifts inside us—our worries loosen their grip, and joy begins to take root again. Paul wrote that thanksgiving makes space for peace: “Do not be anxious about anything… but with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” Gratitude opens the door for God’s peace to stand watch over our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Thanksgiving joy is born in worship. It’s the soul’s response to remembering who God is and what He’s done.
A Holy Pause
In his 1621 letter, Edward Winslow ended with gratitude—describing the abundance around him: fish and fowl, herbs and grapes, rivers and open fields—and commending his friend “to the Lord.” His thankfulness turned naturally to worship. More than four centuries later, his words still invite us to pause.
As we prepare our own tables, we’re not chasing the perfect meal or moment, but recognizing the faithful hand of God. Thanksgiving becomes more than a day; it becomes a rhythm—the steady heartbeat of a soul awake to grace.
Perhaps that is how we recover the joy of Thanksgiving: by slowing down long enough to give thanks, not just for what we have, but for who God is.
The Pilgrims’ feast was not flawless, but it was holy and honest. It acknowledged both loss and provision, both struggle and grace. Their joy came not from abundance but from awareness: God had been with them.
May we learn to rejoice in the same way, in the gathering and the giving, in the sharing and the stillness.
For joy, after all, is not found in a feast without end, but in a Savior who never ceases to give.
Winslow, Edward, and The Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History. Letter from Edward Winslow to a friend, December 11, 1621 (abridged), December 11, 1621. https://www.gilderlehrman.org/sites/default/files/inline-pdfs/Edward%20Winslow%20letter%20abridged.pdf.
