Ladling spicy tortellini soup into shallow bowls, I handed each plate to my husband where he added a thick slice of wheat bread and placed the meal in front of a waiting child. Speaking above the din of our six children I outlined for him the indignities and frustrations of hosting both grandmas for Thanksgiving, “She criticizes everything I make! She brings nothing for the dinner and then doesn’t even help with the dishes!”
He spread a thick layer of butter on yet another slice of bread and suggested, “If you could be a little more humble this Thanksgiving, you’d be a lot more happy.”
The words stung, but I had an instant, almost spiritual confirmation that he was right. If I could be a little more humble, I’d be a lot more happy– not just on Thanksgiving, but every day.