As I get older, I find my emotions

are changing. Where once I would invest an enormous amount of emotional

energy in the race for the Southeastern Conference football crown or the

ability of the Atlanta Braves to make the playoffs again, I now find that

I have only passing interest in such events. Now, I find that I get a

lump in the throat and misty eyes at the strangest times and over the

most varied things.

Last Thanksgiving Day is a

good example. Early in the morning, while the fog and gloom was still

hanging heavily in the air, I walked to the car to retrieve the previous

day's mail. I spied a letter from a friend who is serving a stretch in

a state prison and opened it first. I've made it a point to visit him,

as I am able, and to write to him once or twice a week. In his letter,

he gave me his latest news and thanked me for consistently writing to

him. Then he said that, of all the people he has met in prison, he is

the only one whose minister writes to him.

For some reason, that statement

affected me in a profound way. I felt the lump tighten in my throat and

blinked back the tears that formed so easily at the corners of my eyes.

I knew that many of the men and women in prison had a Christian background

and that a good number of them had been active in a church prior to their

committing the offense that landed them in that place of isolation and

loneliness.

Later, I shared with my wife

my friend's statement and my reaction. She said, "David, I don't

know why you are so surprised. There are many ministers out there but

there aren't very many shepherds and fathers." Sadly, I admitted

the truth of her statement but still felt sad for the many who felt cut

off from their spiritual roots.

About mid-morning, my youngest

son, James, called from San Antonio. James has been away from home almost

4 1/2 years serving his country in the United States Air Force. He has

a girlfriend, he told me. She's a tall, pretty blonde from New Mexico

and is stationed in San Antonio, too. She's Catholic, I learned, and I'll

get to see a picture soon. He'll make staff sergeant in about two

weeks, he said. And, yes, he will be home for Christmas this year. I sat

in the chill on the back deck smiling broadly and feeling that familiar

lump and those wet eyes as we caught up on news.

Thanksgiving Day dinner was

served at two o'clock, with my wife outdoing herself again this year.

It was up to me to make the traditional toast and I noted that, since

the last Thanksgiving, both my older sons and their families were in new

houses. My oldest son and his wife bought their second home in August

and my middle son, John, and his wife July, moved into their new home

with a big fenced-in backyard a few months ago. I was a proud papa as

I realized that all of my sons and their families are believers, are healthy,

and are employed.

I did miss three faces at the

table: James, the son in San Antonio, and two grandsons who were celebrating

Thanksgiving elsewhere, due to divorce, a sad condition which has touched

nearly every American family in one way or another. We raised our glasses

in thanks for the past year, in anticipation of the year to come, and

in honor of those missing from our table. My eyes were dry, but the lump

was there.

Then, early in the meal, my

oldest son, Jason and his wife Jessica announced that they were expecting

a baby, their third, who is due in June! What a surprise! We thought they

were through having kids. This will be our seventh grandchild! According

to the scriptures, I am a blessed, blessed man! And, of course, that dang

lump just stayed stuck in my throat and one tear did escape and trickle

down my cheek before I caught it.

After everyone left, I chased

Cindy out of the kitchen and began to clean up. She did most of the cooking,

so I figured the least I could do was clean up. As I washed the crystal,

I turned on Fox News just in time to see the story of the President of

the United States making a secret and surprise visit to U. S. military

forces in Iraq. As the President walked out to greet the troops, the 600

stunned soldiers jumped from their seats, threw their arms in the air,

and cheered and cheered. I jumped up, too, though in my heart, since I

was already standing, and cheered silently. In the solitude of the kitchen,

I thrust up my arms in unison with the soldiers, and, this time, the tears

wouldn't stop. I don't think I've ever been more proud of a president

as I was on Thanksgiving Day. I noticed that his eyes were wet too.

As the day wound down, I thought

about watching the NFL football game, but it just didn't seem to

be all that interesting. Besides, it's been a long, long time since

a football game - or any game, for that matter - caused a lump

in my throat or my eyes to be wet. Only the very important things in life

can do that!

[Father David Epps is rector

of Christ the King Charismatic Episcopal Church

between Peachtree City and

Newnan. He may be contacted at [email protected] or at www.ctkcec.org.]