Hard Thanks

Thanksgiving is just two days away. Grocery store aisles are crowded, boxes of Stove Top are flying off the shelves, there's a run on turkeys and hams, cranberries boil and pop in shiny saucepans, houses are cleaned spit-spot from top to bottom, and heavenly smells waft through our homes as prep work sometimes seeps right into the wee morning hours. Soon, the white noise mishmash from dishes clinking, coffee brewing, conversations and laughter, prayers around tables, marching bands, football, and children playing will mingle from floor to rafter in homes across America. It is a time of JOY. Thanksgiving wells up in our hearts and spills over into the space of this one day that we share together corporately from Maine to Florida all the way to California, Alaska, Hawaii, and every state in between. It's one special day to say "thanks" together. BUT. There's always a but, isn't there?

Last week, I received a message from a long-time friend. She and I go all the way back to sixth grade. Her little sister's life was tragically stolen by the relentless tormentor of cancer. She was thirty-seven. She was stunning. She was a mother, sister, aunt, daughter, cousin, friend. She is gone. This morning, I received a message from another friend. Her cousin, a senior in high school, was in an ATV accident. He had his entire, amazing life ahead of him, but he was ripped from life to death in one single, disastrous moment. How? How in this hell-hard grief do you say "thanks"?

The truth is, hearts are broken all across this same America that is supposed to pause for gratitude this week. Marriages are falling apart, jobs have been lost, news from doctors has devastated, finances are fragile, gaping soul-wounds fester, alcoholism rages, relationships have been betrayed, depression lurks. There are so many different forms of death that cast a shadow across our souls, and if it isn't happening to you, I guarantee there is someone you know or someone your path has crossed that it is happening to. We are broken people in a broken world. AND it's Thanksgiving. What do we say to the motherless children, the parents who have buried a child, the widow who lost her beloved, the man whose wife ran off and left him with kids to raise alone? I ask again. How in this hell-hard grief do you say it?

...thanks...

Let all platitudes be silenced. There simply are no words for soul-bending pain.

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To the hurting and broken, even with God, some things don't make any human sense. We turn them over in our minds a thousand and one different ways, but God is not a genie god answering prayers like wishes granted to bless us with a perfect, untainted life. When we have pleaded and prayed from the depths of our soul-bones for something that meant the world to us, yet our world makes no sense at all, it can leave us in an utter faith crisis. Sometimes, our world gets rocked right down to ash and there is no explanation.If you are aching and feel abandoned this Thanksgiving, I want you to know it's okay. It might be hard for you to get out of bed, let alone to try to get your heart around to being grateful. You don't have to, but if it is in your heart to try to offer a thank you, I want you to know that whatever fragment you can muster to hold up with trembling hands, that priceless fragment, is likely more valuable than a million thanks easily uttered from a place of abundance, because that fragment or shard will probably cost you everything. In giving it, you will have given ALL. If you can't, it's all right. You are not alone. You are understood. I keep thinking about Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane before he was hauled off to his accusers to be tortured and murdered on rough-hewn beams. He was asking His Dad for another way through the soul-crushing path he was on. I don't recall Him saying thank you, but he did ultimately surrender in the midst of asking for a different way through or around His circumstance. Hear this. For the love of all things holy, Jesus pleaded for an answer He didn't get! If you are hurting, be gracious to yourself. I won't promise that your pain will make sense, but I know you can get through this, even if it is one breath at a time. If you can't say thank you, let it go. That will be okay, too. Focus on breathing.

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

It is enough.

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If you know someone carrying unspeakable wounds, I want to encourage you to let your love and compassion be evident in actions. Weep with those that are weeping. Sit beside another in their sorrow. Even well-intentioned words have the potential to sprinkle salt on open sores. Staying quiet is often the most loving action you can offer. Take a meal. Give a hug. Offer your service. Be a listening ear. Whatever you are led to do, do it without expectation. Be kind to those who need your kindness. Maybe your smile will be the very thing that keeps someone else's head above water for a day. You never know the full impact of simple things. Be mindful of those who might be lonely this Thanksgiving. Holidays are a difficult time for a lot of people. By all means, soak up all the joy you can if you are surrounded by it this holiday. Don't be ashamed of that at all! It's a beautiful gift. Just try to be aware and others minded. You might be surprised what beauty will come across your path as you selflessly give love and care to one who truly needs it.

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56:8 (NLT)

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Notes from the Ordinary- Vol.2

When we moved into our home nearly three years ago, it was in the middle of snowy February. Under a blanket of icy white, our home had many mysteries to be discovered with the upcoming seasons. One of the mysteries for me was the younger tree that graced our front yard. If you know me personally, it is likely that you also know my favorite color is red. Keeping true to my love of red, one of my favorite trees is a red maple, and I have always longed to have one of my own. Little compares to the fiery bright splendor that warms the world in its contrast against an autumn sky than that of a red maple. I am not a tree expert, so I wasn't one hundred percent certain that our new front yard tree was a maple, but I hoped, longed and wished that if it was, it would also be red. Spring came, and the tree branches became dotted with brand new buds. The buds soon swelled and unfolded into tiny, perfect leaves. MAPLE LEAVES. Again, not being a tree expert, I had no idea if there was a way to tell if this maple was a red maple or not, so I patiently waited. The first autumn in our home arrived, and the first signs of color change revealed red leaves on the tips of our maple's branches. I was thrilled! I had a red maple of my own! This felt like an unexpected gift. But as the next week or two progressed, the remainder of the tree's leaves changed to yellow. I hadn't paid enough attention to yellow maple trees to know that the first leaves that change color usually turn from green to red hues. Simple hope was dashed, and some days it doesn't take much after a long hard journey to be discouraged. Autumn 2015 was a disappointment.

I was prepared ahead of time for a yellow maple tree the second autumn in our home, so at least hope wouldn't be dashed. I began to plot our yard in my mind and plan a place for a future new tree, a red maple tree. If I wasn't gifted a red maple, I was going to plant one myself. We only live on a half acre, and the way our home is situated on our lot gives little place for another tree to grow, mature, and thrive. I turned it over and over again in my mind, but I couldn't find a viable place to plant a tree unless we wanted to sacrifice the humble fire pit, or the spot where we put up a small pool for our kids. One tree just for me was not worth the sacrifice of many things that our entire family enjoys. Autumn 2016 was also a busy time for our family with our firstborn getting married, so I didn't have a lot of time to sulk about yellow or red trees even though I confess that many times I wondered why the tree we currently have couldn't have just been red. How hard would it have been for the tree's planter to plant a glorious red maple instead of a plain ordinary yellow one? God surely would have known how much I would have loved red, and He knew at the time of planting that this would eventually be our home. It seemed so simple to me. Why not just this one thing, God? So many other big, hard, heart-wrenching things have paved our journey. Couldn't I have had just this one tiny thing that doesn't really even matter to anyone else in this world except for me? But it wasn't meant to be, and there was no way to fix it myself in the yard space we have. As silly as it seems, autumn 2016 held more disappointment.

I noticed several weeks ago that the autumn colors seemed to lack this year. Our family took a quick trip to southern Indiana to view the fall foliage, and it seemed to be the same there, as well. At home, our young tree did begin to faithfully change from red tips to blah yellow, and fall just felt flat. Many other life-deep, soul-deep things have been stirring, so the outside seemed to perfectly reflect my inner being. Then, autumn 2017 took me by surprise. Right in the middle of an ordinary morning on an ordinary day, I stepped onto our ordinary porch stoop, and looked up at our ordinary tree. Golden beauty literally took my breath away.This was a different fire than a fiery red maple. This tree shimmered dreamily with steadily glowing embers that cast a lovely golden hue over the entire corner of our yard, and I was frozen in its hush.

 Every single leaf changed from dull to vivid yellow overnight.

It was stunning, and it shamed me that I have been complaining about this tree for far too long. Honestly, I don't even need to bring myself to a place to try to embrace it. IT EMBRACED ME.

SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL WAS RIGHT BEFORE MY EYES, AND I NEARLY MISSED IT BECAUSE IT WASN'T THE THING I WANTED IT TO BE.

How often do we do this in our lives? How often do we do this with God? I confess that I do this more often than I really want to admit. I scoff and complain about my circumstances. I grumble because I have this thing and I want that thing. I am bitter because our situation should be that way, but it's this way. I have thrown my fist in the air and stomped my feet demanding for something to change. Dear ones, I confess to you that I know I am missing beauty that's right in front of me. Life, just like this golden, glorious tree holds a precious lesson.

SOMETIMES, YOU HAVE TO GET UNDER A THING TO REALLY SEE ITS BEAUTY.










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