Musings from the Chair
Musings from the Chair: Being Thankful in the Storm
Friends, as I sit here in my old leather chair with a cup of coffee gone lukewarm, looking out over a rather dreary, wet pasture on this November day, I can’t help but feel the weight of the headlines pressing in like storm clouds.
Just this month New York City went and elected a self-described “Muslim Communist” as mayor (yeah, you read that right), folks in our own state are pushing State Question 836 to blow up our closed primaries and turn them into the same messy “jungle primary” free-for-all that’s caused chaos in other places, and Democrat Congressmen are calling for military insurrection. Stories pouring in from Europe sound less like news and more like the fall of Rome 2.0, and prices at the pump and the grocery store still acting like they’ve got a personal grudge against working families thanks to “Bidonomics”. And somehow, in the middle of all this noise, we’re supposed to carve the turkey, bow our heads, and say “thank you.”
I’ll be honest—some days it feels like gratitude is the hardest prayer of all.
But my great-grandmother, God rest her soul, had a saying she’d pull out every Thanksgiving, right before the second helping of cornbread dressing: “Honey, hard times don’t mean the Lord’s gone quiet. They just mean it’s time to lean in and listen harder.”
She was always right, and this is one of those lean-in years.
Because here’s the truth we dare not forget: we still wake up in the greatest nation the world has ever known. A place where a kid from a dirt-road town in Oklahoma can still grow up to be anything God calls him to be. A place where the churches are still full on Sunday, where the flag still waves even when half the nation wants to burn it and the other half wants to wrap themselves in it so tight they can’t breathe. We live in a place that, for all its bruises and battles, still believes—deep in its bones—that tomorrow can be better than today.
That belief isn’t naïve.
It’s the most American thing there is.
The Bible tells us in Philippians 4:11-13 that Paul learned to be content in whatever state he found himself—whether with plenty or in hunger, in abundance or in need. How? Because he could do all things through Christ who strengthened him. Not some things. Not just the easy things. All things. That “all” includes living with grace when the mayor of the biggest city in America brags about being a Communist, when activists try to rewrite our election rules, and when the culture looks like it’s circling the drain. That “all” still stands.
That same strength is still on offer today—no election can vote it out, no policy can tax it away, no border crisis can overrun it, and no inflation rate can deflate it.
The Bible doesn’t promise us a trouble-free country. It promises us a trouble-proof Savior.
So here’s my straight-from-the-chair Thanksgiving prescription for 2025:
1. Put the phone down. Seriously. For one day, let the doom-scroll rest. The algorithms will still be angry tomorrow. Your kids and grandkids won’t be this small tomorrow. Your parents and beloved friends won’t be here forever. Make the memories that outlast the outrage. Make memories that no algorithm can monetize.
2. Look around your table and thank God out loud for every soul there—especially the ones who drive you nuts and the ones who voted differently than you did. Blood’s thicker than politics, and grace is bigger than both. Besides, who else knows all of your faults and still brings dessert?!
3. Remember what this country was built to be: a place where people who fled tyranny could worship freely, work honestly, speak boldly, and raise their children to believe that with God, all things are possible. That vision didn’t expire in 1776. It’s still worth fighting for—at the ballot box, in school board meetings, in the prayer closet, around the dinner table, and in the way we love our neighbors.
4. Encourage somebody this week. Call a friend who’s discouraged. Drop a pie on the porch of a neighbor who’s alone. Be the reason somebody feels seen this week and be the light somebody else needs right now.
This week, while the political storm howls outside, and before the next headline hits, pause and thank God for the quiet, everyday miracles we overlook: the smell of brewing coffee, hot water that comes out of the tap without a second thought, your kid’s muddy boots on the porch, the neighbor who still waves even when your yard signs don’t match, the old hymn that slips out when you’re washing dishes and suddenly your soul feels steady. In a world screaming about what’s broken, these small, ordinary mercies still fall like quiet rain—every single day. These small, steady graces are the anchors God drops right into the gale. Noticing them doesn’t ignore the storm; it proves we’re still standing in it, held by a strength bigger than the wind. Noticing them is one of the truest acts of gratitude—and defiance—we can offer.
We’re not guaranteed an easy country, friends.
We’re guaranteed an eternal King.
And as long as He sits on the throne, there is always—always—reason to give thanks.
From my creaky old chair to your Thanksgiving table:
May your plates be full, your hearts fuller, and your faith be fullest of all.
Happy Thanksgiving, Oklahoma.
See you on the other side of the pie.
In hope and resolve,
Terri Coulter
Chairman, Wagoner County Republican Party
