The best Thanksgiving I ever had started with an icy windshield and an ice scraper. 

It was 2013. My family had moved to the South of France at the end of August and had spent the last three months adjusting to our new surroundings and trying to find a place to call home. A family of six is an oddity in that neck of the woods. Finding a house that could accommodate our numbers comfortably was a challenge.

Before arriving, we rented a lovely vacation home at the top of a hill overlooking a medieval village for two weeks. From there, we spent a few days in a local hotel before transitioning to our next holiday home in a different village closer to work but farther away from school. After exhausting every agency within a 30 km radius, we were beginning to wonder if we'd ever find a permanent place to live when a colleague who was moving offered his house—a 1300-square-foot maison de compagne with four bedrooms, two baths, a great kitchen, and a pool. 

We contacted the shipping company and told them to get our container out of storage. We had a delivery destination! We set a date and anticipated reconnecting with our things. On moving day, the weather took a turn for the worse. It had been cold for a few weeks, but a freak storm covered the roads in ice and kept our shipping container in port. We'd have to try again later in the week.

The frost was a problem for me because no matter where I looked, I couldn't find an ice scraper for my car. I made do with various kitchen spatulas. I tried a CD case. Once I even used an old credit card. These were not efficient tools. It was weeks before I found what I was looking for in a bin next to the register at a hardware store. 

My heart filled with gratitude as I used the tool I had searched so long to find, despite the rush. I had to get the kiddos to school and then race back to meet the moving truck. As I scraped the car, I remembered that day was Thanksgiving, a holiday not celebrated in France. How fitting that I should be filled with such gratitude on a day that centers on giving thanks. 

Moving day was a whirlwind. By day’s end, our house was filled with clutter, chaos, and the warmth of our familiar items. We feasted on a dinner of cold cereal and agreed that we had never felt so thankful. Our family was together, and we were home. On that day, Thanksgiving wasn't a meal; it was a feeling. 

As I share that story, I still feel that visceral wholeness, contentment, peace, and love. I am reminded that gratitude is bigger than the platitude "attitude of gratitude." It's about intentionally choosing to see the world through a lens of abundance and then sharing with others. I chase that feeling every day. When I find it, I know I'm home—no matter where I am—because genuine gratitude is a place of comfort. 

In French, one of the words for gratitude is reconnaissance, which, broken down directly, means re-knowing or becoming aware again. It’s an acknowledgment and recognition of the things one possesses and has done. I love the idea that being thankful is remembering or reexperiencing. It reminds me that everything is connected. 

I had no idea that using a simple ice scraper that morning would bring me a feeling of joy and abundance I would feel again and again. This November, let Thanksgiving become a way of life that can feed you year-round instead of a meal that will satisfy you for a day. Set your intention. Live life abundantly.

By Meredith Francom