November has wrapped our northern Idaho homestead in a cozy blanket of frost and falling leaves. The harvest is finally winding down – those last stubborn cabbages pulled from the earth, winter squash cured in the barn, and the final apples picked before the winds claim them. We've filled our root cellar, lined the shelves with canned jars like jewels, and now we're turning to the quieter tasks: mending fences, stacking firewood, and preparing for the holidays.
Thanksgiving is just around the corner, a beacon of warmth amid the chill, reminding us to pause and give thanks. But if I'm honest, this season often finds me humming a different tune.
For those of you who haven't been blessed by two continuous decades of VeggieTales in your home, let me explain. VeggieTales has a knack for distilling life's fundamentals – faith, kindness, gratitude – into catchy songs, silly skits, and veggie-led adventures. On the surface, it's a simple kids' show, but in our house, it's become a wellspring of quotes, from little jokes to profound biblical truths.
No, this isn’t a VeggieTales sponsored article, but even as a forty-something-year-old woman, I refer back to it more than I'd care to admit. I've whispered "God is bigger than the boogeyman" to myself on dark nights, and I can't pass a big-box store without muttering "Stuff Mart" under my breath. And here, at the tail end of harvest season, another phrase echoes in my mind: "A thankful heart is a happy heart."
I'm repeating it like a mantra, not because I'm bubbling over with joy, but because I need the reminder. Someone – probably a calendar designer with no homestead experience – decided to plop back-to-school season right on top of harvest time. Since we homeschool, we do have flexibility, but eventually, lessons have to start. Add hunting season into the mix with Josh and the older kids heading out at dawn plus the final rounds of canning with sticky counters and a dash of floors gritty with tracked-in dirt – it's a recipe for chaos. Now, throw in prepping a Thanksgiving feast for our crew of eleven kids, two kids’ spouses, one grandchild, and any friends who join us? It's enough to make a mama sigh deeply.
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Overwhelm is a word freely tossed around in our modern world. Folks look at my life – tending the homestead, homeschooling our lively bunch, and running businesses – and assume it's overwhelming by default. Yes, it keeps me busy, which suits me fine; I get bored easily. But about three years ago on a November day, I caught myself using the word "overwhelmed" like a crutch. At some point, I paused and asked: Overwhelmed by what?
The word itself is neutral. We can be overwhelmed by joy, as when we watch a child take their first steps. We can be overwhelmed by love, as I often am in those quiet moments with Josh after a long day. Or we can be overwhelmed by paperwork, canning jars, or laundry piles.
So, what did I mean? If I'm honest, the overwhelm resulted from the amount of stress due to choices I'd made. Our family relies on our harvest for food all winter – if you do the math to find your per person grocery cost and multiply that by thirteen, you’ll understand why. Putting up food for my family is a necessity. But families have survived winter for centuries on some root-cellared veggies, salted meats, bread, and some fermented cabbage. Do I need twelve varieties of jam, plus every vegetable pickled, frozen, and dehydrated? Not really. These extras, while delightful, complicate things.
Once I admitted the overwhelm stemmed from my own personal decisions, I had to own it. Couldn't I simplify? Pop dinner in the crockpot at dawn, freeze extra veggies instead of fancy preserves? Absolutely. But saying "I'm overwhelmed" had shifted my mindset – suddenly, conquering the to-do list trumped everything. It overshadowed the little hearts looking up at me, the giggles during story time, even my attitude toward God. It became an excuse: "I'm overwhelmed, so snapping at the kids is okay," or, "I'm overwhelmed, so prayer time can wait." What a dangerous loop – create chaos through choices, then justify selfishness to escape it, then start all over again.
I didn't want that pattern defining me. Life has necessities: laundry, meals, kitchen cleanups, weeding, preserving. But even these can be streamlined if needed. On the homestead, fall is the prime overwhelm season, when post-summer busyness collides with back-to-school and harvest time. But thankfully, Thanksgiving arrives as a quiet nudge to refocus. Instead of being overwhelmed from stress or to-do lists, what if we choose to be overwhelmed with joy and gratitude? That's a shift, isn't it? Not common in our complaint culture, but transformative.
Here’s the challenge: being overwhelmed by to-dos is a default mode – it just happens without any effort. But gratitude? That takes intention. We've all felt that thankfulness requires work. As I hum my VeggieTales tune, I remind myself: Thankfulness is a daily choice (okay, some days it is a moment-by-moment choice). It doesn't always feel easy; often, it's like pulling teeth. My flesh wants to grumble, to feel sorry for myself, to declare, "I'm so overwhelmed!" Choosing instead to thank God for my many blessings results in irreplaceable joy.
Walking in the wrong type of overwhelm focuses my attention on myself, magnifying my personal list of needs and wants until they're the biggest thing in my life. But thankfulness elevates God, making Him bigger than sticky floors, laundry, or crying babies. It's like Paul writes in Philippians 4:4-7 (NKJV, emphasis mine):
“Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I say rejoice ... Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”
Gratitude shifts our perspective, inviting His peace to guard our hearts and minds from the tyranny of our to-do lists.
This season, I've decided to practice gratitude intentionally. My mornings now start with listing what I’m thankful for during my prayer time: warm coffee, children's laughter, bountiful harvest despite challenges, love, and always, redemption. During canning marathons, I thank God for provision, and turn what I often call “overwhelm” into opportunities for worship. When homeschool hiccups arise, like a toddler interrupting math to show me his beautiful wall art, I pause, hug him, and thank God for these fleeting years. It's not perfect; sometimes I slip into grumbling. But the more I choose thankfulness, the happier my heart is, and the better I get at it.
Humor helps, too. Like the time I was "overwhelmed" during butchering season and ran out to help the kids package the meat chickens, only for one of my children to sneak up on me with a chicken foot and grab me from behind! Boy, did I jump! All the kids were laughing at how high Mama jumped. Instead of snapping, I joined in, and we laughed together until we cried. We ended up with a freezer full of chicken (and chicken feet), but even more precious are the memories of working together, laughing, and quoting VeggieTales mid-chaos.
"A thankful heart is a happy heart!" lightens the load, reminding us not to take ourselves too seriously. Homesteads teach this beautifully. Harvest isn't just a time to gather the fruits of our labor; it's an opportunity to reflect on growth – from seeds planted in faith to abundance reaped to meals eaten in fellowship. We faced droughts, scorching heat, pests, hail storms, and an untold number of surprises, and yet God provided. Our thankfulness acknowledges His hand and turns our potential overwhelm into praise and stories of His faithfulness.
Scripture reinforces this. Colossians 3:15 (NKJV) urges: "Let the peace of God rule in your hearts ... and be thankful." In times of trial or plenty, gratitude anchors us. It's not ignoring hardships but choosing to see God's goodness in the midst of them.
As moms and grandmas, we know this intimately. Juggling family, home, faith, it's easy to feel buried. But what if we reframed our perspective and instead of being overwhelmed by our circumstances, we choose instead to be overwhelmed by God's love, as shown in a grandchild's smile, or by His provision, evidenced by a full pantry, or by grace, covering our imperfections?
This Thanksgiving, will you consider joining me in being thoroughly overwhelmed not by lists, but by God's goodness? We are overwhelmed by blessings, big and small – by gratitude that brings joy, by love that sustains. Let's gather around tables, share stories, sing silly songs if needed, and thank Him who makes all things possible.
Happy Thanksgiving, dear friends. May your hearts overflow with thankfulness and your homes with happiness.
