Remember That A Better Feast Is Coming

Despite differences in background or tradition, Thanksgiving is generally recognized as a time to celebrate abundance. It’s a time when friends and family gather to give thanks for the harvest, for “plenty,” for the goodness of God seen in what He has provided. But for the grieving mother, the cultural chorus of “Give thanks!” can sting like salt in a wound. Those words echo from store displays and social media captions, throw pillows and kindergarten artwork, but instead of prompting joy, they may only amplify the emptiness.

Empty wombs that once held life. Empty arms that ache to hold a child who is no longer here. Empty chairs around the table that bear witness to a presence missed. Empty nurseries. Empty silence. Empty prayers. Empty hearts.

Sometimes the ache shows up even in a full room. You might find yourself surrounded by friends or family yet feel completely unseen in your grief. Maybe your tears have long since dried up, leaving only numbness. Or maybe they’re still falling, and it feels like they’ll never end. Maybe your heart feels frozen by disappointment so bitter, you wonder if you’ll ever feel warmth again. The truth is harvest season doesn’t always yield visible abundance. Sometimes, it leaves behind ruin.

Recently, my Bible reading plan took me through the book of Joel. It opens with devastation. Swarms of locusts consuming the fields year after year, stripping the land bare and leaving nothing to gather in. Loss upon loss. It’s hard to read. But then, in the middle of the ruin, God speaks.

The Lord answered and said to His people, ‘Behold, I am sending to you grain, wine, and oil, and you will be satisfied… I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten.’
—Joel 2:19, 25

For Israel, this was a promise of literal provision. But for you and me, it points to a deeper reality. God promises to restore what has been lost to the brokenness of this world. One day, He will make all things new. The years stolen by grief, suffering, and sorrow will be redeemed and filled with joy and wholeness. This is what gives us reason to give thanks, even when we feel empty. Even when our table feels incomplete. Even when it seems the harvest has failed.

Though the tables we sit down at this Thanksgiving may feel more like reminders of loss than symbols of abundance, I pray we also remember a different table. The one Christ prepared for His disciples on the night He was betrayed. At that table, He offered bread and wine, His body and blood, broken and poured out for us. And the next day, He drank the bitter cup of wrath so that we could drink from a cup that overflows.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil… You prepare a table before me… my cup overflows.
—Psalm 23:4–5

Dear Hope Mom, this Thanksgiving may look nothing like you expected. Maybe you’re staring at an empty highchair or a calendar that marks a due date that will never arrive. Maybe the world’s celebrations feel hollow when your arms are aching and your womb no longer carries the life you’ve longed for. If so, I pray this for you: that you would taste and see that the Lord is good (Psalm 34:8), even here.

Even in the wake of what the locusts have devoured, you have a sure inheritance in Christ: one that is imperishable, undefiled, and kept in heaven for you (1 Peter 1:3–4). One day, you will sit at the table of the Lamb, at a feast that will never spoil (Revelation 19:9), surrounded by joy that cannot be shaken (Psalm 16:11; Hebrews 12:28). But even now, as we wait for that feast, we can remember the table Christ has already set. Communion reminds us that we are not alone in our sorrow. God has given us what can never be taken away… Himself.

Gratitude may feel faint this year and that’s okay. It doesn’t have to be big or loud to be real. The smallest whisper of thanks from a broken heart is precious to God. We give thanks not because our pain has vanished, but because we know the Giver remains. In fact, it is in our lack that we can see Him most clearly. He is faithful in the ruin, generous in His presence, and unwavering in His love.

This Thanksgiving, as you drink the bitter cup of sorrow, may you also taste the sweetness of His goodness. May you remember His character, His covenant, His comfort, and His care. And may you find hope! Not in what you’ve lost, but in who He is, for it is who He is that carries us through.

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good, for His steadfast love endures forever.
—Psalm 136:1

Because He Lives, I hope,
Jennie

Jennie is the Executive Director for Hope Mommies. She and her husband Brian live in Oregon and have four children together— Trenton, Paige who has been in Heaven with Jesus since 2010, Mason, and Cora. If you were to knock on her front door today, you’d find her in something comfortable drinking a hot cup of tea, while trying to figure out how to balance all the things that make up a life. She enjoys spending time in God’s word, fresh flowers, board games with her kids, cooking, and evening walks in her neighborhood. She adores being a new creation in Christ and prays she reflects Him well on this earth.