When the fields finally rest, gratitude becomes clearer. From Missouri farm tables to Serbian homes, one truth rises above culture and tradition: thanksgiving belongs to God alone—not to saints, symbols, or stories. This is a call to lay every other custom aside and lift your thanks to the only One who hears.

As a boy sitting by the fishing pond, I felt like time grew on trees. Now, as responsibilities pile up like storm clouds, I steer my days like a submarine through deep waters — careful, tense, never enough room to breathe. And when the pressure rises, wasting time becomes the sweet poison that promises relief while slowly hollowing the soul.

A quiet story of two boys on the same street reveals one of Scripture’s deepest truths: the difference between a covenant that measures the heart and a covenant that transforms it.