il giorno del ringraziamento.

This Thanksgiving was the weirdest, most unique, most stressful and most beautiful of my life.

Let me tell you about it.

Last year was my first Thanksgiving away from family, but I spent it with my "family away from family" in Rome. This year, I journeyed to Bologna to revisit some people I met during my first trip to the city and at a retreat with my friend's church up there. Last year (and every other year of my life) I celebrated this excuse to eat an unreasonable amount of food with only Americans. This year, I was the only American there.

Let's start at the very beginning (it's a very good place to start, after all).

Knowing that I would be in Bologna on Thanksgiving day, my fabulous friend (who is Colombian but lived her preteen through college years in Miami and just married an Italian in October) planned a party with two small groups from her church that consisted of all Italians except for a Scottish guy, her and me. Which would mean that I would be the only full-blooded American (U.S.A., U.S.A., U.S....Ok I'm stopping) there. Which I was really excited about!

Upon my arrival, my friend informed me that we would be making the turkey. That's right. My very first time making a turkey! It was also my friend's very first time making a turkey... (Are you seeing why "most stressful" might have been included in that opening sentence?). 

So on Thanksgiving morning, my friend and I took a 45-minute bus ride into the city center to pick up "Lola" (We were about to get very intimate. She needed a name). We wheeled our little rolling shopping cart thing (the one all the old ladies take to the grocery store around here) along the cobblestoned streets to the meat shop. We passed by the pancetta and chicken (as well as the pig's feet and goat's head) and asked for the turkey she had ordered. Then out come two fresh, ready-to-be-cooked turkeys. We weighed our options (literally...two Italian men held the bodies like babies and hosted them each onto the scale. We went with the big one). After making our decision, the "macellaio" wrapped up our bird (twice, because her legs busted right out of the first bag), and we put her 17-pound (8 kg) body in our "carrello" and wheeled her to the bus stop. Of course, we had to make a pitstop to get some fresh pumpkin ravioli and pumpkin gnocchi to make for lunch and then went to the main piazza to take a few quick pictures, all with Lola in tow. 

When we got back to my friend's apartment, we ate our pasta (SO. GOOD.) and took a good look at the recipe for the turkey. We started by plucking off some feathers that had been left behind. Then we rinsed her off a bit. Then we rubbed her with the butter/sage/rosemary/pancetta concoction the recipe called for (all while taking deep breaths amidst high-pitched squeals of "Eww"). Then we stuffed a stick of butter and fresh rosemary and sage up her butt (or "inside the main cavity," in turkey-recipe jargon). Then we stuffed her in the oven (quite forcibly, because she very nearly didn't fit).

And then we started to get paranoid. We didn't have a meat thermometer. What if it didn't cook all the way and we gave everybody Salmonella? Was three hours really enough time? Tent with foil? What does that mean?? Were we supposed to do that at the beginning or end? Was the skin supposed to kind of bubble up like that?

So we ended up taking the turkey in and out, in and out, tenting her with foil then taking it off, rotating her in the oven, checking to see if she was done by basically lacerating her in several places. 

But alas. Four hours passed. And she wasn't done. 

That's when my friend's husband came home and told us we had the oven on the wrong setting and she hadn't been cooking properly/efficiently/whatever. So back in the oven she went, dooming us to a delayed departure. But fortunately the two casserole dishes of mashed potatoes, pan of cornbread and tray of pumpkin muffins were all ready to go.

Then, finally, she seemed to reach a state of golden, not-too-dry-and-definitely-not-raw perfection. But the gravy! We hurried to whip up this essential condiment. But my ill-timed addition of extra flavor left it nothing short of chunky. So, in a state of near-panic, my friend Facetimed her mom (in Spanish), who told us to try putting it in the blender. It seemed relatively cohesive and "abbastanza" gravy-like after that.

So everything was finally ready! All we had to do was juggle the decorations, the potatoes, the cornbread, the muffins, the pitcher of gravy and the ginormous turkey between the three of us and get it all situated in the car.

But we finally made it to the party! An hour later than expected, but we still weren't the last ones there.

And what a beautiful Thanksgiving party it was! Not only was Lola a hit, but it was such a blessing to see people again and meet some new people as well. 

And this group of Italians taught this American girl the true meaning of Thanksgiving.

Seriously. There was so much more intentionality to it all. Typically my family just eats. I mean, of course we enjoy being together and say a prayer before the meal to thank God for blessing us throughout the year. But at this party, not only did we do that, but after we had eaten, one of the guys basically just shared the gospel (using a clip from the Big Bang Theory. Genius.) and then a few people shared what they were thankful for.

Some things were pretty typical (one couple was having a baby, some said they were thankful for that community of friends, one guy said he was thankful to live in a country with more freedom and safety than many others). 

But one guy said it was good to also reflect on the truly difficult times. The trials. The pain. The dry seasons. 

Because during the struggle, in our desperation, we get the joy of seeing God's provision. Because when we reach the end of ourselves and we realize how much we truly need Him, we cry out for help and we are more thankful when He does meet our needs, because it is inescapably clear that it is His hand...that He -- The Lord -- has done it (Psalm 109:26-27).

It's easy to take things for granted if we feel okay...fine...full...satisfied (enough). Kind of like the way maybe I don't appreciate my Nanny's amazing cooking as much as I would if I had gone without food for a few days...As it is, I just feel so absolutely stuffed from lunch at my Grammy's house that it's hard to truly appreciate the extravagant, wonderful meal set before me at dinner (yes, back in the U.S. I am spoiled rotten by two amazing meals on Thanksgiving).

I like these lyrics from "Great Things (Worth It All)" by Elevation Worship:

Thank You for the wilderness
Where I learned to thirst for Your presence
If I'd never known that place
How could I have known You are better?

We avoid hard times like the plague, but maybe we should embrace them. Even if the situation is painful and exhausting and heartbreaking...it can bring us (almost paradoxically) to a place of true joy...of understanding what it means to be truly thankful...and to be truly thankful for the only Thing that is constant and wholly good. Only then -- when all the "gifts" are stripped away -- are we able to be thankful for the Gift-giver Himself. We are able to love and enjoy Him for Him, and not just for what He gives us.

Something to chew on.

So that was my Thanksgiving Day this year. Then I went up to Turin to celebrate (again) with two American families up there and hug them all goodbye for the last time in who knows how long. (As my friend said, very profoundly and accurately, "Goodbyes suck.")

These were some of the first real, final (for now, anyway) goodbyes. Yup. These last few weeks are going to be rough. Okay, I can't. I'll save the emotion for another blog post when I'm blubbering through my final days here and/or reverse culture shock. For now, here are some pictures of my (two) Thanksgiving(s):

Love from Rome,

Elizabeth