When Gratitude Kisses Grief
Thanksgiving is a bittersweet time for me. I’ve always loved the holiday season surrounding Thanksgiving and Christmas. But a few years ago, the joy and gratitude of the holidays unexpectedly melded with grief. Now, Thanksgiving doesn’t just remind me of family gatherings and too much delicious food—but also a deep loss in my life.
What was once pure delight is now a both/and—an amalgamation of happy/sad and gratitude/grief.
Just a few days after Thanksgiving 2018, we got some bad news that was the precursor to a trauma in our daughter’s life that happened less than two weeks later. (I talk more about this in my book.) The end result was a shattering of life as we had known it. Some events (for good or bad) are so monumental that they become dividers by which we understand the progression of our lives. This was a before/after moment for us. It changed us forever. We could not go back to the former life or the people we once were.
I spent whole days fighting back tears, sometimes weeping uncontrollably. The shock and grief were such that I felt like they might kill me. Our daughter couldn’t eat or sleep for days. Then, she became numb, cold, distant. The child in her had vanished.
My husband’s birthday was just a few days later, and we had scheduled a babysitter and planned to go to a nice restaurant for dinner. Now, celebration seemed impossible, and I considered cancelling. Yet, we both desperately needed a break. So we sat in the restaurant, looking at each other, numb, trying to connect, still reeling from the unbelievable.
I’ll never forget those first few weeks of attempting to cope with what had happened. Or the way Christmas felt deeply sad, the way I didn’t want to open gifts, the way I couldn’t savor the twinkly lights on the tree. Every year since, as Thanksgiving nears, I am reminded of that pain. And even though Jesus has miraculously healed our hearts and delivered our daughter from the aftereffects of the trauma, I still know what the pain feels like. I still grieve the losses that (though healed) cannot be restored.
I know I am not alone in this. Holidays are terribly hard for many people. When they became hard for me, I started asking God, How do I live in this both/and? How do I allow myself to grieve while also celebrating the good and living in hope?
Thanksgiving is the perfect time to ask this question, because gratitude happens within the context of an imperfect life. Human gratitude is unavoidably surrounded by pains and disappointments and unknowns. If we wait for the perfect moment to be thankful, we will never give thanks. The question is: How do I let gratitude kiss my grief?
In the Bible, when King David danced before the Lord in praise, that praise happened in a context (see 2 Samuel 6). We often think of that moment as a before/after marker in David’s life—a moment of abandon and surrender that would define who he was forever. When criticized by his wife for dancing half-clothed in public, David declared, “I will become even more undignified than this, and I will be humiliated in my own eyes” (2 Sam. 6:22 NIV). But we don’t often talk about the why behind David’s extravagant praise. That context is really important.
The beginning of 2 Samuel 6 tells the story of David’s first attempt to bring the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem—and the tragic death of Uzzah when he touched the Ark. David had tried to do the right thing, but instead, everything went wrong. Because of this, David became angry at God for what had happened. He also felt afraid of Him. In fact, David felt so angry and offended that he wasn’t sure if he still wanted to bring the Ark to Jerusalem. The disappointment and grief of that moment were real. This was going to be a before/after moment for David—but in which direction?
David was on the brink of hardening his heart against God, but then he heard what was happening at Obed-Edom’s house. In his anger, David had left the Ark at the house of Obed-Edom, and now God was extravagantly blessing him and his household. In that moment, I believe David remembered the truth of who God is—and his desire to be in His presence returned. David didn’t forget the pain and disappointment of what had happened just three months before. But he chose thanksgiving in the middle of the pain. He let gratitude kiss grief.
That is why, when his wife questioned his praise, David defended it so strongly. His worship and gratitude had a context—of disappointment and grief—and that was why they mattered so deeply to him. David chose to humble himself before the Lord, knowing that the Lord’s heart was toward Him, even in the middle of grief. His sacrifice of praise, his gratitude in grief, was a crucial moment in his relationship with God, and no one was going to take that from him.
The same will be true for us. The both/and of gratitude in grief is a choice to dance the undignified dance of David, to sing a song in the dark of night, to believe and hope no matter the pain—because we know God loves us, and He is faithful. His presence is enough. We can be thankful.
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