William Bradford finished his meal and began walking toward a patch of trees where he would often go when he needed to think and pray. Yet every step seemed to bring another handshake, an assuring pat on the back, a story of someone’s debt of gratitude to him. But on this day Bradford wanted none of it. He just needed to walk away from the noise and laughter that was closing in around him amidst the rising dust from another wrestling match between two braves. He needed escape. He needed to be alone.

He barely made it to the familiar spot before he broke. Knowing he was now far enough away from the celebration, he let his guard down and caved in. The tears began to pour out and hit the damp ground just as quickly as his knees had done. Finding it hard to catch his breath, Bradford began sobbing…praying…remembering…

He remembered his youth and the death of his parents. He remembered his constant journeys as a young man in search of the truth. He remembered the years spent fleeing persecution under religious tyranny. He remembered the voyage, the peril and despair, and the joyous hope that befell them all when land was finally within sight.

He remembered pledging his full faith in God, and his efforts to the success and “general good of the colony.” He remembered the small waves against the rickety ship as they landed. He remembered the blind step into the fog and mist that day. He remembered finding a firm footing upon the solid foundation of a simple, yet symbolic rock.

He remembered how ill-prepared they were for the challenges that awaited them. He remembered the struggle. He remembered the loss. And even now, on the fringe of a joyous celebration which marked success and the giving of thanks, he remembered them…

He remembered those who would follow…and he wept, praising God and praying aloud for them…for us.

This Thanksgiving, as I visited with good friends and family amidst more blessings than I could possibly give ample ‘thanks’ for, I tried to remember. And while I allowed myself to play a game of mental tug-o-war over bills, car repairs, and all the things over which I have no control, I was blinded…and I forgot…because of me.

I forgot just how secure I am in this great nation…then I looked at scores of American heroes in pictures and videos who have defended this country by sacrificing their lives through the years.

I forgot just how much I do have…then last year I watched as my “fellow man” trampled an employee at a Wal-Mart on “Black Friday,” exchanging the employee’s life for a “good bargain” on a manmade item that will be forgotten in a month.

I forgot about the ‘general good of the colony’ and ‘charity’ to others…then I watched as greedy citizens wrestled over the last X-Box on the day after Thanksgiving last year, and heard about others who were shot inside a Toys ‘R Us store that very same day.

I forgot about faith in something (and someone) bigger than myself…then I heard about “Giving Thanks” on TV through the singing of about two dozen choir members from a small, rural church somewhere in Tennessee.

I often wonder what our founders would think of us today. Would they still ‘give thanks’ for what we have become? Or, if they had it to do all over again, would they willingly sacrifice the same in exchange for the generations who would extinguish the flame and drop the torch of their courageous spirit? Did we lose that “something better” they searched, and fought, and sacrificed so much for?

Those are questions that cannot be answered in a handful of simple paragraphs, tucked away and lost among the millions of webpages lost in cyberspace. They are questions that must be answered only in the hearts, minds, and prayers of a nation that has truly forgotten…and one that desperately needs to find its way back home…