12 Days of Thanksgiving: Day Seven

In my mind, being thankful seems to be always tied to praise — praising God. I guess it just seems like thanksgiving requires an object, and when it comes to the blessings of life, and indeed the blessing of life itself, those thanks rightfully rests on God.

Praise has been difficult for me lately. Not because I don’t believe God is worthy of praise, or because I don’t recognize His hand on our lives. He is, and I do. I think it’s been difficult because I feel disheartened. Disillusioned. Like my knees have been knocked out from under me. It’s hard to muster the joy and appreciation and celebration that seems to signify praise. Instead, what I feel is more numbness. The praise or thankfulness that I can pull together in my spirit is centered more in survival than in the bounty that so often motivates declarations of thanksgiving.

I feel and know God’s hand in my situation. I see his “fingerprints” in the months leading up to Mike’s death and in the time since. I see them in very concrete ways, and while it’s difficult for me to glean larger purposes right now, I’ve never questioned His presence here. His sovereignty in all things. This fact as the foundation of my tenuous faith.

So, as I’m searching for ways to praise today — ways to apply a thankful heart, this is what I’ve found. God is so large. He has to be. He is larger than my limited faith. He is larger than my weakness and my confusion and my disappointment. He is so large that nothing takes Him by surprise, not even my questions. In fact, He is big enough to hear those questions and honor the most fragile of faiths.

Sometimes I think we operate under the hidden assumptions that claiming a faith in Jesus exempts us from the hardships of life, from the unexpected devastation or the unexplainable sorrow. We think that we trade in our faith or our “right-ness” for an easier life, as if faith were a bargaining chip.

The problem with this view of faith is that it robs us of endurance. It denies us the very grounding and sustaining power of faith — the thing we were seeking in the first place. As we slam head-long into circumstances that are undeniably “wrong” and suspect and questionable and even damaging, faith as currency for a good life just doesn’t cut it.

The faith growing in me today is different than it was two months ago. A year ago. Three years ago. As I struggle to define it in this place I never imagined I would find myself, only one word seems right — sincere. Not strong or unwavering or joyful or even faithful. Just sincere. The events of the last year of my life have opened up an acceptance of an honest faith. A well-intentioned faith in a God who is larger than the what-ifs and but-onlys and what-abouts of life. My heart has reluctantly undergone the stripping away of pretense, of rote, of because I said so, and arrived squarely at doing the best I can to breathe.

I’m oddly thankful to have arrived here. Because it has allowed me
a faith that asks “why?” and “how?” and “what the hell?” At a time when I very certainly would have lost my mind or my faith completely if I could NOT ask those questions.

Just a sincere faith.

Sincere wandering.
Sincere acceptance.
Sincere searching.
Sincere blessing.
Sincere wrestling.
Sincere questions.
Sincere mistakes.
Sincere seeking.
Sincere avoiding.
Sincere joy.
Sincere sorrow.
Sincere compassion.
Sincere anger.
Sincere disappointment.
Sincere disillusionment.
Sincere everything in between.

A sincere faith.
In a sincere God able to remain God through it all.
And today, that’s enough.

12 Days of Thanksgiving: DAY THREE

Smiles when I see them. “Maybe we should make a fire tonight.” Excitement from the day. Really wanting to play more with their friends. “Let me see if it’s cold outside. It’s cold!” All three talking at once as we climb into the car. Trying to buckle up on their on but it’s too dark. Choosing the CD track to play. Organizing the fire-building activity as we drive. “Can I have two pieces of candy?” The great unpiling of backpacks and papers and artwork and leftover snacks. Sifting through folders and hanging bags on hooks. A parade of excitement down the steps and to the wood pile. Instructions from Little Drummer Boy. Always. Big logs, medium logs and little sticks. Fire starters and long matches. Each with a turn to add a piece of wood. “It’s burning!” “Can I tell you about my picture now?” “My tummy hurts.”

Upset stomachs. Cleaning up. Damp clothes. Soothing words. “Is Baby Girl ok?” Curious George. A picture of the Mayflower. In a giant storm. “And then I found the gray crayon!” “Can I sit in the green chair?” Cheesy dogs. No, plain hot dogs. And tater tots. And leftovers from the fridge. More soothing words and rubs on her back. “Look at our fire!” Pumpkin paper plates. Ketchup. Putting her in bed. The laptop. Robin Hood. Boys stretched out on couch and bean bag. Their day’s work done. Email newsletters and Google Analytics. The sign for “I love you.” Changing socks. Finding Lamb. Tucking in this way and that. A Fly Went By. “Tomorrow I’m coming to lunch with you.” “I want you to.” “This is the funniest part.” “Will you pray for me?” A sigh. And a smile as I close the door.

One thousand little things that add up to a normal evening. Just a Tuesday. As the dust of our upheaval settles, it’s a blessing to recognize the signs of just a normal Tuesday evening in late Fall. Even with stomach bugs and tired spirits and full work loads that are somehow just normal. One thousand little things. That are so big.

I can’t believe I get to walk through this life with the three young human beings here. They teach me every day that real life is in the small things. And that it’s big. We face huge hurdles. Long-lasting hurdles. But it is such a blessing to teach them that life is a gift.

I’m blessed. And thankful to teach them. And learn from them. That through hurt and sorrow and the painstaking onslaught of normal, the simple joy emerges. That living is big. That living is worth it. That no matter the cost and depth of endurance, living is a gift worth treasuring. And each day we choose LIVING, we triumph.