Today millions of dining rooms are filling up with strange, emotionally stunted families doing their best to fake Thanksgiving. I’m asking you not to participate in such foolery, suggesting instead that you prepare your spirit ahead of time with the same level of commitment you bring to the giant, stuffed turkey. If you do, you may discover that the most difficult family celebrations are the ones God uses best.

Even the coziest families struggle with authenticity. Few of us get to choose our dinner party guests; planning the guest list is often fraught with obligation and hostility. The anger that hides in little fortresses all year long must come out from behind the stone wall and show itself.  We fret about the way so-and-so micromanages the dinner, the way that certain parent refuses to discipline his child, the way that certain teenager avoids eye contact—every weakness is exposed in a small dining room. And those are the small things. Thanksgiving will probably make you angry, not grateful. Why do you think Costco sells more bottles of wine this month than any other?

Most of us drag ourselves across Wednesday’s finish line and begin the physical preparations of packing, cooking, and traveling. But this year I’m adding prayer. This time I will not pray for God to change that self-absorbed uncle or the ungrateful adolescent who might be sitting across from me, but I will ask God to change me. Consider what the writer of James says, My dear brothers, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, for man's anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires.

Let’s not forget that the Bible's admonition is not for the common man to achieve. In fact, no man has enough maturity to simply resolve himself to walk in perfect peace with his brothers. The best he can do is fake it for the sake of appearances. The man born of God, however, can rely on the Holy Spirit’s extraordinary and mysterious work. Perhaps more than any other time of year, I’m desperate for him to intercede.

So while the Holy Spirit must do his part, I must do mine. Instead of trivial small-talk, I can engage someone’s deeper interests (Where do you see your life in ten years? What’s the best thing that happened to you this year? How can I be a better daughter?) My husband and I can encourage my children by speaking well of our family all year long—even about those who probably don’t deserve it. With the right spiritual preparation, I just might be able to really listen to those at the dinner table. With great love. With humble acceptance. Without wine.

I don’t want to be a poser. If my family were a Hallmark greeting card, God wouldn’t need to intervene, and where would that leave me? It is precisely when our families are the strangest and most difficult that my testimony becomes most compelling—not for Caroline’s sake but to reveal God’s extraordinary love.

The turkey and I need a lot of time to thaw this year. I’m starting now.