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I love the holiday season and all that goes with it.

The planning and anticipation that goes into the family gatherings excites me and most of the family and friends that are a part of them. These are times where I can鈥檛 help but think about how God has blessed us, no matter what the season of life we are in. That was ever apparent as I made the drive down to the southern Minnesota town of Hills the day before Thanksgiving. It included four hours of time with my wife and kids staring out at immense fields of corn yet to be harvested, mixed with corn stalk and soybean stubble for miles and miles. Interspersed are feedlots and farms that raise all sorts of goods that keep shelves stocked and people fed.

We were driving through the great Corn Belt, soon to become the great 鈥渇rozen foods section,鈥� where some of my in-laws live. We would be offered hot meals and goodies in one massive celebration of Thanksgiving and both my wife's and mother-in-law's birthdays.

Good golly, the food was grand. But I had a problem. After my first significant meal the day before Thanksgiving, I was stuffed. Painfully stuffed like a locker room laundry basket on Friday night.

I was laying out on the floor of the living room trying desperately to stretch out my stomach to make way for the next day, but it was no use.

Thanksgiving came and the food was prepared. My stomach usually growls watching the meal come together. Not this time.

It was time to eat. I placed meager portions of my favorites on the plate. I was full before I started, but I pressed on. 鈥淭his only comes but once a year,鈥� I thought to my miserable self. When the main meal was over, the typical parade of desserts came out. Pie and ice cream or frosted brownie cake were both good options, but both sounded awful at the time.

I watched as my brother-in-law piled on the pie and dolloped the ice cream. He forked it in and sat holding his plate and glancing back at the counter that still held on to an abundance.

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鈥淗ow could he?!鈥� I thought as I paced the hallway hoping for relief. Oh, if only I were in his shoes ... I would have sliced another piece of caramel apple pie and lived life to the fullest.

I watched the rest of the group, even small children, pack it in like it was their last meal. It was hard to watch.

On the drive home I almost felt bad for myself. In fact, I shared with others later that week how saddened I was that I wasn鈥檛 able to pig out.

How ridiculous is that? While many go around hungry in our world, I鈥檝e so much that I鈥檓 troubled by a lack of excess.

Here I am blessed to be full, with an abundance of delicious food all around me and everyone else, and I am sad that I couldn鈥檛 stomach more. Talk about real world problems.

I guess it stems from the days where our family would pack into the car and drive down to Browerville to visit my Aunt Gladys and Uncle Wes. We kids would be at the kids table with a countertop covered in food between us and the adults. While the adults conversed, we kids would eat plate after plate of the good stuff. There were three kinds of meats, both sweet and unsweetened potatoes, real and dessert style salads, vegetable trays, the dish of herring and the never-ending warm buns. I could eat and eat and then eat some more. It was encouraged.

We all had our health. There were no family arguments. I barely even had to help with cooking the food. Life was good.

It鈥檚 sad that on this Thanksgiving, I managed to be sinfully ungrateful.

All is not lost for this glutton of a man. I realized that I simply had to change my outlook and take some important steps to correct that upsetting situation.

This Christmas, I鈥檓 planning to go back to my ways of old. In my youth, I would rise early with physical activity. Winters would be filled with square bale tossing, wood chopping, snow shoveling and more.

Rather than typing at my desk, I need to work up an appetite with some manual labor. Then I can eat like it's 1999 and be thankful for every last caloric crumb. There鈥檚 hope for me yet.