Over 10 years ago, on Thanksgiving Day, I knelt to tie Mom’s shoe and could see something wasn’t right. She looked at me with a blank stare and no words, her eyes trying to communicate what I already knew. The blank stare was a series of strokes that led to her homegoing a few weeks later. I remember trying to act normal that day, as if my world wasn’t falling apart. I helped Mom eat her last Thanksgiving meal, my heart crushed as I lifted the fork to her mouth.
How do we fold our hands in a prayer of thanks when our hearts are broken?
A friend and I visited recently about the loss of her child during this season, a pain I can’t comprehend. I watched her walk through that pain, and there are no words to describe it.
“They say time heals,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks, “but I’m not too sure about that.” This beautiful season of Thanksgiving was also making her re-live the raw grief of loss. There are many of us who face the holiday season with painful memories and others who are struggling through the middle of a broken place. It’s hard to lift your hands in praise when your heart is crushed.
I started a gratefulness journal when Mom’s cancer and my autoimmune journey began. She told me I would find the healing when I found gratitude in the everyday moments. That journal pulled me out of grief and shifted my focus on what was in front of me, not what was beyond my reach. There are so many things we can’t control, but we can choose gratitude. At first, I didn’t think it was possible to write one word. The journeys we were on left me feeling dark and alone. But I knew Mom was right, so I wrote my thanks every day. After she died, I felt like putting the journal away, but instead I took it with me to the porch swing where we had shared so many conversations and tears. There would be no more time on the swing with Mom, and I sat with pen in hand and journal in my lap and let tears fall on the page.
After a while, I wrote one word.
Duck.
The ducks Mom and I would watch by their pond were huddled together for warmth that day, and I was thankful for them. I let myself grieve the loss of my mother, tears falling as I watched those ducks. And then, I felt my own warmth as peace blanketed me. That single word was all I needed in my journal that day. It was a reminder of all that I had to be thankful for. Just as the ducks were hovering for warmth from the cold, I needed peace and warmth too. Jesus met me there and sheltered me. He allowed me to be honest about my grief, and He held me close.
When my friend’s child was dying in the hospital during that Thanksgiving season, God also met her during those moments of helplessness. “He showered me with indescribable peace,” she said. She was also choosing to find moments of gratitude during the Thanksgiving season, even though it was hard. She wanted the memories of loss to be covered with hope, but some days that choice to be grateful was easier than others.
Just one small step every day is sometimes all we need. Keeping a gratitude journal saved me in so many ways during those scary, dark days. My prayer is that it will help you find the good, and that you be able to look back at your words and see how far you’ve come.
My favorite author, Ann Voskamp says, “What if in these days before the holidays-the holy days-we find a way to defy the dark and testify to the goodness of a good and holy God? If our hand has stretched out to know God, our hands will stretch up to thank God. If our hands have ever intimately known the face of God, the kindness of God, we cannot help but ultimately raise our hands in thanksgiving to God. And in this remembering to give thanks, our broken hearts are re-membered.”
If you are walking through grief and a broken place, my prayer this holiday season is that you will feel carried and know the peace that passes all understanding. As you hover for relief from the cold pain, I pray you will remember that you are “re-membered” through His grace.
You are never alone.