It’s our last night in Georgia for a while. The fire is dying down, the boys are heading to bed, and we can all look back on this trip of Thanksgiving with all of the good feelings in our hearts.
The day began with traditional hotcakes and sausage in Grandma’s kitchen, then it was on to the Wilson family reunion. We talked to so many people who pray for us daily, some we know and love and some we’ve never met. We were given wisdom from Michael’s grandmother and heard stories of Michael’s grandfather, stories that made us grateful for rich family history and traditions (and recipes) that have been passed down through generations.
Tonight we rode to the property of a dear friend, a kindred spirit. The boys ate steamed oysters and a low country boil, a dream come true for a kid on steroids. We talked about how happy Benji has been since he’s been here. My wise friend guessed that maybe it’s because here, he’s not “the kid with cancer.” He’s just Benji. He may get an extra prayer or two–prayers we need and appreciate–but he’s just Benji, and he’s treated with the same love, respect, and sense of community as every other child out here. It’s a beautiful thing.