Thanksgiving in Grief

 

Thanksgiving.  How could I have ever known before losing Wyatt that holidays could bring a pain that slices deeper and wider than any knife?  As families are gathered around the table and all the children are present in homes large and small, there is wholeness that can be felt.  The deep sigh settles in as parents look around and realize the joy of togetherness – though life may not be perfect, there is a permeating sense of rightness in the world when we can tuck our babies into bed, safe and sound after a heavy meal of turkey and potatoes, heart light with love, stomachs full and blessed. 

 

That word – blessed.  It has been the cause of much confusion in my heart and much searching. Am I still blessed when my table sits raw with grief as four of us sit down and the empty chair remains?  How do I have a thankful heart when everything in me wants to scream that “This is not fair!?”  When prayers of thanks tend to center around the gratefulness in hearts for wellness, safety and provision…where was our safety that day when Wyatt went to heaven because of a complete freak accident?  The odds of it NOT happening were so much greater than the chance that it could ever happen again.  In fact, the investigation showed that it probably couldn’t.  “Could not be re-created if you tried.”  Really, God?  How am I supposed to feel about that?  Where was our safety, blessing and provision?  What about all the prayers I prayed daily for the protection by His angel armies over my children?  Prone to anxiety and able to imagine every terrible thing that could happen, I used to be plagued with worry over my children’s safety.  That is why I was always “overbearing” with my boys when it came to things that may involve danger.  I was the parent who told Eli as he began driving his brothers around town about the responsibility he held in his hands.  I would look him in the eye many times before he left our driveway and say, “Eli, you hold three precious lives in your hands.  You hold my whole world behind that wheel.  Please drive careful.  Do not get on your phone or play with the music.  Just drive.  I love you.” 

 

Here I sit on my couch Thanksgiving morning.  The house is clean and calm, and the fog has settled deeply around our house on a hill.  The sound of a tractor outside lumbers on as Levi is putting his hand to staying busy and my washing machine hums with its constant load.  My children are asleep upstairs in their warm beds…but one is not here.  There is one bed that sits so horrifyingly empty.  He is nowhere to be found, yet I go to visit him at a grave.  We are going through the motions of living and breathing, and I have been dreading today with all the pieces of my shattered heart.

 

I walk into stores and feel sucker-punched in the gut.  The Christmas music almost brings me to my knees.  Thankfully, the masks help hide tears and trembling lips as I duck my head and hope to not see anyone I know.  Most the time if I try to talk, I will break.  It’s easier to be anonymous and reside behind the plastic veil I wear, so thin, it will crumble the second I am in my car.  The celebration of the season has not reached my heart…and yet the quiet presence of the Lord remains.  

 

I am writing because I feel led to share what today is like for us, a family who is grieving…living through Thanksgiving.  I have been to the depths of Sheol and I have flooded my bed with tears.  I understand the heart of Jacob as he grieved for his son Joseph, “’…and he said, surely I will go down to Sheol in mourning for my son.’  And His father wept for him.”  Genesis 37:35

 

I have questioned how my heart can participate in a day that can almost feel like a mockery to my reality.  When others get to post about how #Blessed they are, I stare at an empty seat at the table.  How do I not allow my heart to grow bitter, broken by life and festering with toxic suffering?  My heart has cried out many times, “What do you want from me, Lord?”

 

In brokenness and utter defeat, I have found that I must dig down to the very bedrock of Truth, past all the things that would distract and keep me from finding the true treasure.  Food on the table – yes, a blessing when others have so much less.  A house?   Check that box.  I am so thankful.  A bed to fall into every night with covers over my head – thankful.  Provision financially and all the gifts we have been given – yes.  Thank you, God.  These are all good gifts!  And now here’s where it gets tricky…what about that thankful heart when health suffers, or terminal illness’ presence is the unwelcome guest at the table?  That hurts.  The family who has lost financially or provisionally can at least say, “We are all together and that’s what really matters.  I can lose it all, but the people I love are what matter.”  Those are the platitudes we use to get through life.  However, when you lose a child, all that falls into a dung heap while you are left covered in ashes with literally NOTHING you can say to make it better.  The Lord has allowed all the platitudes to fall by the wayside, all the things that distract to be burned to a crisp; yet He has asked me to mine down deep with blistered hands and a weary frame.  I must zoom out and adjust my perspective in a whole new way. 

 

For the Chamberlain family this Thanksgiving, we will be thanking God for the gift of His Son.  That is the foundation, the bedrock, the never-changing Truth.  It is simple, and yet takes the greatest amount of faith the Lord has ever required from me.  I will never be thankful that my son lost his life on a terrible day in April, but I can be on-my-knees thankful that Jesus Christ made a way for my son to be ushered into heaven and that WYATT GAINED ETERNAL LIFE.  I won’t be whispering prayers of thanks for our safety or wellness, but I will be telling Jesus I am so grateful He is with me and walks beside me.  I can be thankful that through all of life’s suffering, it is not worth even comparing to the glory that will be revealed to us someday (Romans 8:18). 

 

The Truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ never changes.  He is showing himself to be my Father and my good, gentle Shepherd.  This does not mean that I won’t be on the floor dripping with snot and tears today and countless times in the future.  I will still be dry heaving over a toilet when the grief hits in overwhelming waves, and I am going to struggle on a daily level in the battle over my mind.  It is a constant war unlike anything there are words to describe.  I feel like I took a blow to the gut that day and time froze; I have still not been able to take a breath.  There is no air.  I don’t know how to describe it in any other way.

 

But God.  There is no other.  Where else would I go?  I have searched to the depths, and He remains. 

 

May the Lord fill you with His unchanging truth today in a world that changes like the tide and winds. May you dig past all the wonderful gifts that can distract, and find the bedrock of Jesus Christ that will build your house strong, so that when the winds and the waves come, you do not fall.   With tears in my eyes, I beseech you to love every minute with your children and tell them what a treasure they are.  Teach them to love the Lord their God above all else.  There is not a minute we spent in family devotions that I regret.  Not one.  When you tuck your little’s into bed tonight, thank God for them and then give them fully to the Father who loves them even more than you do.  And celebrate mightily for their physical presence in your life. 

 

For those that suffer in some way alongside our family this year, I hope that you remember the God who is WITH you. Remember you do not walk alone. It seems fitting to end with this Psalm.

 

Psalm 18

I love You, O LORD, my strength. 

The Lord is my pillar, and my fortress,

And my deliverer.

My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge;

My shield, and the horn of my

Salvation, my high tower. 

I will call on the LORD, who is worthy to be praised,

And I will be saved from my enemies.

The cords of death encircled me,

And the torrents of destruction terrified me. 

The cords of Sheol surrounded me; the snares of death confronted me.

In my distress I called on the LORD,

And cried for help to my God;

He heard my voice from His temple,

And my cry for help came before Him to His ears.

…(vs16) He sent from above, He took me;

He drew me out of many waters.

He delivered me from my strong enemy