Gratitude and his double first cousin, Thankfulness, sit around our dinner table during this season, partaking in the turkey, stuffing, cranberry salad, and sweet potato casserole. And once we kick back our chairs, our belts and shirt buttons protesting, we invite them into our sitting room discussions on deer hunting and the expected winter snowfall. We are sure to thank them for our jobs, homes, and yearly vacations. We praise them for lavishing us with the things we need, and even many of the things we want. We express appreciation for our upbringing, our community, our culture, and everything that shows us that we are more #blessed than the unchurched and destitute.

And while we talk, Thankfulness and Gratitude’s distant relation, Contentment, huddles outside, uninvited and unwelcome. We had him over once, but since he didn’t contribute much to the conversation about our hobbies and home renovations, we didn’t bother inviting the killjoy a second time. To keep him away, we micro-dose between holidays and vacations with weekly Amazon deliveries and thrift hauls. We know that somewhere there is the thing that will set all aright and bring ourselves and our homes to a state of cozy minimalism, but we never quite find it—spurring us to continue our search. Contentment watches it all, alone and in the cold, but we still don’t see fit to welcome him in.

After a few hours of telling personal stories of blessing and deliverance with a smattering of humblebrags, we show Gratitude and Thankfulness to the door. We thank them for coming and close the door, but not before saying that we’re looking forward to seeing them again next year. As Gratitude and Thankfulness walk down the walk toward their Buick Cornucopia, we spy Contentment skulking out by the neighbor’s fencerow. We might invite him next year, but we probably won’t because we know that God helps those who help themselves.