Grieving With A Grateful Heart

All of the pumpkin spice lattes in the world couldn’t warm me that first November. It wasn’t just the air that was cold, it was my heart. When my son went Home just two months earlier it was as if a part of me had died with him. And there I was, surrounded by family and what seemed like hundreds of platters of food, and fear instilled in me as we gathered around the table.

Before dinner, it was customary to say grace followed by each member of the family saying one thing they were thankful for.  But this year—this year, I was struggling under the weight of my grief to find any reason to be thankful. I knew logically that there was plenty to be grateful about. I had a wonderful family, a beautiful home, and we were all healthy, but the absence of my son in my arms was vast. Despite the volume of so many of us crammed into my mother’s dining room, it seemed as if there was a deafening silence without a crying baby. Without my crying baby.

I never did hear him cry. I never saw his chest expand with breath or caught a glimpse of what I know were his beautiful blue eyes. This was all I could think about as I racked by brain for something to say. Something that wouldn’t sound fake or thoughtless. I had spent the last two months wrestling with God. Wrestling with my faith. You see, I knew that God was good. I knew He was the same God that year as He had been the previous year, but now He felt distant. He felt cold. Where was He? Why didn’t He save my son?

“I am the man who has seen affliction by the rod of the Lord’s wrath. He has driven me away and made me walk in darkness rather than light; indeed, He has turned His hand against me again and again, all day long. He has made my skin and my flesh grow old and has broken my bones. He has besieged me and surrounded me with bitterness and hardship. He has made me dwell in darkness like those long dead. He has walled me in so I cannot escape; He has weighed me down with chains. Even when I call out or cry for help, He shuts out my prayer. He has barred my way with blocks of stone; He has made my paths crooked. Like a bear lying in wait, like a lion in hiding, He dragged me from the path and mangled me and left me without help. He drew his bow and made me the target for His arrows….I have been deprived of peace; I have forgotten what prosperity is….I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me.”
Lamentations 3:1-12, 17, 19-20 (NIV)

I don’t remember exactly what I said at the Thanksgiving dinner table that year. I’m sure I went with some pat answer like “family” or “health.” But what I really brought to the table that year was a heart full of lament. More than anger, more than disappointment, I felt deeply heartbroken. So deeply that it was as if I could actually feel my heart breaking.

Yet even deeper than the pain of grief and suffering was the truth that my God was good and that He was with me through it all, even when I didn’t feel Him. I knew this because He had been there before. He had rescued me from the pit of despair. He had saved me. Forgiven me. Lavished me in His love, His grace, His mercy. I had seen His faithfulness so many times before. Why would I think this time was suddenly different?

And it wasn’t. I still think back and I see His presence everywhere during that time. Throughout my pregnancy, at the hospital as we said hello and goodbye in the same breath, that Thanksgiving, and all of the months to follow. Though I didn’t always feel Him, I can so clearly see His fingerprints on those days now.

It was the memory of His faithfulness, the altars I had built in my brain to His goodness, that allowed me to find thankfulness again.

“Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”
Lamentations 3:21-24 (NIV)

So I called the steadfast love of the Lord to my mind and I had hope. That is how you become thankful with a grieving heart. That is how you find hope when you feel buried beneath the weight of loss. Call to mind His goodness. Call to mind His faithfulness. When you can’t see Him today, think back to a time you did see Him. Think back to a time He carried. A time He saved. A time He redeemed.

This Thanksgiving, if your heart is full of lament and all you can bring to the table is your brokenness, take heart. “The Lord is near to the broken-hearted…” (Psalm 34:18a). We often stop there. He is near, and that promise alone should bring great comfort to us in our grief. But He does not stop there. He continues His promise to us in “…and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”(Psalm 39:18b)

He is near. And He saves.

When you can’t see Him. When you can’t feel Him. He is near. Rest in the truth of His faithfulness. Rest in the the promise of His presence.

Great is your faithfulness, O Lord. This we call to mind and so we have hope. And what better thing is there to be thankful for this year than hope?

We would be honored to share your story as a Hope Mom on our blog. On Saturdays we feature Hope Moms’ stories in order to showcase God’s faithfulness even in the midst of such deep sorrow. If you would like to have your story shared on our blog for this purpose, learn more and submit here.