Some
of you remember a past Thanksgiving as a time of grieving. Heartache.
We
tend to think of Thanksgiving as a joyous time, a warm time of enjoying loved
ones and good food.
But
memories of some Thanksgivings
might
be just the opposite for you.
Perhaps
a loved one was dying,
or
you learned your cancer had returned.
Maybe
someone dear to you committed suicide.
You
lost your job.
Or
your spouse left you.
Or
an earthquake—
or
hurricane or volcano or wildfire—
destroyed
your town.
And
now,
when
Thanksgiving comes around each autumn,
you
remember that season of sorrow.
And
those memories hurt every time.
Five
years ago this month, my daughter, son-in-law, and three grandkids somehow
lived through an earth-shattering few weeks—along with hundreds of their friends
and neighbors.
The
Woolsey Fire started November 9, 2018, and burned for fourteen days, destroying
almost 100,000 acres of the Santa Monica mountains and residential areas in
Malibu along the Pacific Ocean. It would eventually destroy 1,643 structures.
Imagine
them evacuating, driving away, fearing they’d never set eyes on their home
again, wondering what could possibly remain of their close-knit community and of
the church my son-in-law pastors. Imagine racing away, mile after mile, winds
blowing flames out of control, and being overcome by enormous rolling clouds of
smoke and ash.
No
doubt you’ve experienced something
similarly
destructive, emotionally or physically.
You
know the ache, fear, alarm, hopelessness, panic.
And
yet . . . And yet. . . .
Kaitlyn Bouchillon wrote of stepping into an unknown future, of having to “walk through
what we never saw coming, walk among the ashes of what was or even, perhaps,
will never be. . . .” (You know what that’s like.)
She
wrote of shaky steps, unable to see more than one foot ahead, feet slipping. Of
weariness, “slowly shuffling along for so long.”
And
yet . . . looking back now,
Kaitlyn could see that was not the whole
story.
Stacy L. Sanchez at Heartprints of God writes: “I have a question for you. What do
you do when life doesn’t make sense? . . . When you are left with a million questions
and not one single answer? What do you do?”
.
. . “When we find ourself experiencing a trial or hardship, our humanness
demands to know why. . . . Why me? . . . What did I do to deserve this? . . .
Why would God allow this to happen? Why would a God of love let me suffer like
this? Why didn’t God step in and do something to stop this?”
Stacy
continues, “Our questioning only leads to feelings of confusion, anger, or
despondency, not the answer we are so desperately seeking.
“.
. . During a very low point in my life . . . day in and day out I kept pleading
with [God] for an answer. I believed if I could just understand the ‘why’
behind what was happening, I would be able to deal with it, accept it, and move
on.”
But,
“God remained silent. For months I wrestled with my emotions and my God.”
What
about you?
What
do you remember
of
being nearly paralyzed,
broken
by an unwelcome blow?
You
recognized life would never be the same again.
Wondered
how you could live with the pain.
Feared
the future.
Doubted
you could keep placing one foot
in
front of the other.
And
God remained silent.
And
yet, looking back now,
you
recognize that was not the whole story.
Ponder
that this week.
Your
mind will be at work while you rake leaves
and
bring woolens out of trunks
and
stoke up the fireplace fire.
And while you plan your Thanksgiving menu.
Believe
me, more and more details
will
pop into your mind.
You
still have time
before
Thanksgiving’s hustle and bustle
to
jot them down.
You’ll
be glad you did,
and
someday your friends and family
will
thank you.
We’ll
continue this next time—
because
there’s so much more to your story.
For
now,
be
thinking about what you can offer your readers
about
mourning—
but
about more than that:
What
can you also offer them
about
thanksgiving—
about
gratitude that eventually became
as
life-changing
as
the darkness?
