Spending the Thanksgiving holiday with the men and women who

Conor Lamb’s words—“Spending the Thanksgiving holiday with the men and women who serve our country abroad is a reminder of the sacrifices many make to serve our country”—are not merely political sentiment, but a truth that resounds with the weight of history. In them lies the recognition that Thanksgiving, a day of gratitude and abundance, takes on a deeper meaning when shared with those who stand on foreign soil, separated from their families, bearing the burden of service. It is a call to remember that the comforts we enjoy are often safeguarded by unseen acts of sacrifice.

Since the dawn of civilizations, warriors have left their hearths to protect their people. Ancient chronicles tell of soldiers who kept watch during festivals, standing guard while their kin feasted. The Romans spoke of legionaries eating bread and olives far from home, knowing that while their families rejoiced in Rome, they stood at the empire’s edge in cold and danger. In the same way, Lamb’s reflection on men and women abroad reminds us that the price of peace and freedom is often borne by those absent from the table, their chairs left empty as silent witnesses to duty.

History provides a poignant illustration in the story of Thanksgiving during the Korean War in 1950. American troops, fighting in the bitter cold of the Chosin Reservoir, received rations of turkey and cranberry from supply lines that had to fight through snow and fire to reach them. Though the meal was modest and far from the warmth of home, it carried symbolic power—it was a reminder of connection, of a nation that had not forgotten them, even as they endured the harshest trials. That simple meal became a balm for weary spirits, proof that sacrifice had meaning, and that gratitude could reach across oceans.

When Lamb speaks of being reminded of sacrifice, he calls us to awaken to a truth easily forgotten: that freedom, safety, and celebration are not accidents, but the fruit of others’ endurance. To spend even one holiday with soldiers abroad is to behold firsthand the cost of loyalty. Their laughter carries longing, their joy mingled with ache, yet their commitment is steadfast. In this paradox of joy and sorrow lies the essence of patriotism—thanksgiving not merely for the harvest of the land, but for the guardians of the nation.

The ancients would say that a people who forget their defenders are a people unworthy of protection. Gratitude must not be confined to words uttered at the table; it must become remembrance woven into the fabric of the feast itself. To honor the servants of the nation, one must remember their absence when the family gathers, one must give thanks with a heart aware of the unseen hands holding the shield far away.

The lesson is clear: let no holiday pass without thought of those who cannot sit with their families because they guard yours. Offer prayers, write letters, send aid, welcome veterans into your homes. Teach your children that the turkey on their plate carries with it the weight of sacrifice made by men and women they may never meet. In doing so, the feast becomes not only an act of family joy but a covenant of remembrance.

Therefore, hear the teaching: Thanksgiving is not complete unless it extends beyond the walls of our homes. Just as Conor Lamb bore witness to the power of sharing that day with soldiers abroad, so too must we expand our gratitude to embrace those who serve. Let us feast, yes, but let us also remember, honor, and give. In this way, gratitude becomes not only a word, but a living act of sacred duty.

And so, the wisdom is passed: the truest celebration is not in abundance alone, but in remembrance of those who make that abundance possible. Carry this truth within your heart, and let every holiday be transformed into a moment of reverence, gratitude, and enduring love.