Today is my favorite holiday.
It outpaces Christmas only marginally, but does so because of the lack of anything other than what it is. No gifts to buy. No cultural pressure to perform. No competition for the biggest, the brightest, the most impressive display. No commercial frenzy or sentimental overload. Just giving thanks. Just gratitude. Just recognizing how desperately needy we are—and how overwhelmingly blessed we remain.
No gifts, not candy, not all the problems we have, not the endless list of grievances our culture gorges itself on. Just pure thanksgiving. Just a moment to pause, breathe, reflect, and acknowledge that if we were honest—really honest—we should be this thankful all year long.
For me, there are three big buckets of things I’m thankful for. They’re distinct, each important in their own right, but they vary widely on the scale of the eternal.
The Silly
The parking space we somehow got last night right in front of the restaurant—while it was raining—after driving in circles three times. Yes, I thanked God for it. I also thanked Him that this year the local deer population decided not to treat our porch pumpkins as an all-you-can-eat buffet, meaning my bride’s beautiful fall montage survived intact all the way to Thanksgiving Day. That may sound trivial, but if you’ve ever watched your wife’s carefully curated seasonal décor get devoured by a buck with an attitude, you’ll understand the gratitude.
Even the Dallas Cowboys finally remembered how to play defense these last two weeks. Will it last? Who knows. Will it matter eternally? Not even remotely. But in a world suffocating under heavy headlines, those silly little joys put a smile on the faces of the ones I love—and that matters.
The silly things don’t redefine life. But they remind us that God cares not only about our eternity—He cares about our Tuesday nights in the rain. For that I’m thankful.
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The Serious
This year has been momentous and humbling. I am profoundly thankful for Phil Boyce and Dave Santrella for giving me the last open national slot in the Salem syndicated family. That KEVIN Show launching this week in 400 cities—hundreds more than I ever anticipated—with stations signing on at what I’m told is a record pace? It’s breathtaking. It is sobering. It is a stewardship.
As we take on the issues in a bolder and wider context and remain unapologetically focused on truth—on the truth of our human condition, and ultimately on the pressing question: How Do We Live?—I’m reminded daily that my life and salvation were bought for a purpose. None of us are here by accident. None of us are rescued just to sit quietly. And today, more than ever, truth needs a voice unafraid to speak it.
I’m also deeply thankful for the other project that we planned long before the show expanded—Such Tiny Shoulders. A collection of musical truths written to bring comfort and conviction. A collaboration of remarkable talents that began in the summer of 2024 and, by God’s grace, reached completion in time for this season. That the eternal truths in those songs might cause someone to ask the big question—that’s why we made it. And I’m grateful to be even a tiny note in the score God is writing.
Another serious place of gratitude this year: the chance to tell more people than I ever could have dreamed about the miraculous work being done to liberate slaves in South Sudan—women and children held in bondage, beaten, abused, starved, raped, forgotten. The work of Christian Solidarity International and the victory stories of women whose lives are being rebuilt inspires me daily. BringHerHome.org lays it all out, and the fact that I get to help carry that mission to the largest audience I’ve ever had is something I marvel at.
The Supreme
As the father of four extraordinary children who will carry my name long after I’m gone, nothing compares to what I witnessed this past year: my third and fourth children—of their own accord—personally convicted—to publicly proclaim their faith in Christ. It remains the highest moment of my life as a father.
I want them to marry well. I want them to choose wisely. I want them to walk in purpose. They are smart, strong, determined, resilient. Their futures do not worry me. What matters is the direction of that strength—the final destination of that will.
A life declaring they belong to Him brings waves of joy I cannot put into words. Salvation cannot be inherited, purchased, or forced. It must be chosen. And watching your child choose it freely is unlike anything else a parent will ever experience.
And that brings me to the greatest reason for giving thanks today: Saving Grace.
God owes me nothing. He sees the sin that crouches and stalks, the failure that stains, the weakness that embarrasses, the pride that suffocates. He sees the tiny handful of things I get right and the vast ocean of things I get wrong. And yet He calls me His child—by choice—through permanent adoption into His family.
Like the scoundrel thief on the cross next to Jesus—I am undeserving. Like Peter, I betray. Like Thomas, I doubt. Yet He remains faithful. Consistent. Rescuing. Restoring. Loving. He never leaves. He never forsakes. He never withdraws His hand from the drowning.
In light of the punishment I deserve—the fact that He showers me with mercy, grace, and love leaves me beyond words grateful.
And I’m certain we all have the silly, the serious, and the supreme things in our own lives today.
So for this day—let’s do it.
Let’s give thanks for the things we do not deserve yet have.
Let’s give thanks for the blessings we could not have earned.
Let’s give thanks not with our mouths only—but with hearts broken open.
Because gratitude is the language of the forgiven.
And today, more than anything else—it’s giving thanks.
And that’s enough.
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