Gratitude and Grief: Paradox or Paradigm?

Thanksgiving. How do we reconcile a season of gratitude with a family of broken hearts? Church pews pregnant with silent suffering? A world of brokenness? How do gratitude and grief coexist? Are they a paradox? One unable to exist in the presence of the other? I don't know too many who would voice such belief; yet there's a cultural pressure to only welcome gratitude and somehow put grief on hold or pretend it doesn't exist. I’m finding the pressure isn’t necessarily always found in what’s spoken or done, but rather what’s left unsaid, undone, and unacknowledged. What if grief and gratitude are a paradigm, an alternate complimentary model of thanksgiving? This doesn't seem to be anything new, as scripture is filled with grief upon grief, yet gratitude as well. I was recently listening to an old R.C Sproul sermon, and he said, "Until we understand one grief outweighs a thousand joys we will never understand what Christianity is trying to make us." The sanctifying work of sorrow and pain was essentially his point. 

This thanksgiving will not be the same as years prior. I don't yet know how I'll feel, how the day will go, nor what others will expect of me. On the heels of Thanksgiving comes my little girl's fourth birthday- yet I hold not my little girl. Then comes Christmas, then more birthdays as the tsunami builds into a new year. I grieve so incredibly deeply. 

I know there are many things for which to be thankful, and grief does not negate those. There is an appropriate solemnness in acknowledging sorrow does not disregard gratitude- perhaps instead it magnifies it. 

I have never been more thankful for the work of Christ and the promise of Heaven. I have never been more grateful for the promise of one day walking upon the New Earth where all my tears of sorrow become tears of joy. I've never been more thankful for the comfort of my God and scripture, as well as the developing habit of digging into his word which is now reactionary in seasons of sorrow.  This year? I have feasted upon the Word like never before, and it has nourished my aching soul. Yet I do not feast at the table of merriment, but of sorrow- washing it all down with salty tears. I have never been more grateful to have been brought up in a home to know the God of life who will one day allow me to go Home to him and my baby girl. For now He gathers my multitude of tears and holds me in the darkest night- the God of my deep, dark valley. 

I have never been more thankful for music and the way it washes truth over my wounded heart and at times staunching a hemorrhage of pain. I've never been more grateful for godly friends- both old and new- who faithfully carry me in prayer and love me in spite of my current state. I've never been more thankful for unspoken words communicated through the tightest of hugs. I've never been more grateful for precious and gentle words of kindness aptly spoken. I've never been more thankful for the way the Holy Spirit lays people upon others' hearts at just the right moment. 

I've never been more grateful for marriage to a man I know is committed to our family, to me, and to the Lord. I've never been more thankful to be an imperfect wife to an imperfect husband. We thought (in our  naivete) the "in sickness and in health, in life and in death" part of our vows pertained to one of us. We were grossly and ignorantly mistaken, but I'm still so grateful for this man. 

I've never been more thankful for the opportunity to hug my other children, feel the warmth of their bodies close to mine, and tuck them in at night. I've never been more thankful to hear the laughter of my children or the sound of them enjoying one another's company. I've never been more gratefully broken as I bury my face in a dirty blanket or shirt inhaling the scent of my daughter. It's a bittersweet thanksgiving I offer here.

I've never been more thankful (while also incredibly sad) for a group of fellow parents all longing to hold their children again, striving to wait well in our interim; a group so willing to love on and encourage one another. I've never been so grateful for the gift of lament, while simultaneously grieving the lack of corporate lament among the Church. 

Am I grateful for my daughter's death? Absolutely not! It's abhorrent. Am I thankful for the Lord's presence in the midst of anguish? Absolutely. 

So this Thanksgiving? Maybe I'll laugh. Maybe I'll cry. Maybe I'll rage against this mocker called Death. Yet, even if I struggle to maintain a heart of gratitude-which I very well may- the Lord knows. He knows my grief. Jesus himself begged for such a cup to be taken from him. That sounds a lot like my prayer of "please don't ask this of me, God". I am so thankful for his patience, his solidarity, compassion, and tender mercies each day. He made me in my humanity and understands my limitations and weaknesses. He meets me here, knowing where I long to be with every cry of my heart. For that, I am so very grateful. 

And still, I grieve. Breathlessly so.