Thanksgiving

In a country that lives in excess and glorifies vanity, I tend to be a skeptic about charity. I am the one that usually questions a person’s motive or reason for giving and believes that it is done more for show than from the depths of a person’s heart. I have historically been a cynic about the American church and the people in it and prefer to engage in church at coffee shops, homes and parks. And so wonder at the curious ways in which people give. It is supposed to elicit a response of thankfulness, which I have given to many, in this season of my life, yet I am finding that there is much more to being thankful than the simple gesture of saying, “thanks.”


I have experienced extreme trial and tribulation the last 3 years and thought, by this point, would have an even greater depth of cynicism and skeptism. Yet, in the very deep places of my being the exact opposite has happened. In the quiet abyss of my soul, a light shined, and all the negative views and beliefs I held, began to rise to the surface of my life. With it came pain, hurt, sorrow, anger, hate and abandonment. Followed by words I said in response to those emotional wounds, that then afflicted someone else with wounds. The trials put me in a posture of receiving from others, instead of giving to others, which pushed my face straight into humility. In the face of tribulation, I have had to trust others, instead of guard my heart from others, which hurled me right into vulnerability.

So, here I am, today, with all my innards exposed and on the chopping block- venerable, humble, weak, broken, and raw. I see things through different lenses now, hear words through a different filter and feel things with a certain tenderness. My experience has opened my eyes to thankfulness. I thought I knew what it was to be thankful. I was trained to say thank you when you received something from someone else, so in a Pavlov’s bell response would be quick to say thank you at the gesture of giving. However, I never really knew what true thankfulness was.

Thankfulness is not really about saying thank you when you receive a gift. It is not even gratitude for another person’s positive gesture. Thankfulness is something much more. There is a complete other paradigm that encompasses this word, that I am just beginning to see and understand. Thankfulness is rooted in the pain, the sorrow, the wounds and the hurt. I could never see that before, because my fruit bore anger and frustration and bitterness. I had no idea that that fruit was on my tree of thankfulness, taking up space where true fruit of thanksgiving should have been. It is in the deepest parts of our being that thankfulness takes root. This is where I discovered that everyone has some level of hurt or wound or disappointment or misconception. In the places where the world tarnishes the soul, that was created to be perfect, these foul things begin to take over places in our being. I thought that being a Christian and doing the right thing would spare me from such pain, but it didn’t. I thought that by following Christ, those pains and hurts would be uprooted and I would not have to face them again; only to experience more pain and disappointed on different levels. So out came the anger and frustration and bold expression of my faith without grace. Out came my tarnished version of the love of Jesus.

I was very thankful for life and for my family. I was thankful for the people who blessed me and loved me. But I was not thankful for the pain. I was not thankful for the people who hurt me and abused me as a child and adult. I was not thankful for the financial ruin or the circumstances that followed that. And I was not thankful for the slander and injustice that I experienced. I was not thankful when we were homeless or when my mom got sick with cancer. So out came the f-bombs and the rage and the uncontrollable fury of my deepest pain. It was as if a cap had been taken off my neatly controlled well of emotions and it exploded with an intensity that I could not even get a hold of. I am thankful for those who endured me during this time.

I watched a movie about Squanto and William Bradford and the friendship the 2 men established that led to our now worldwide famous celebration, called Thanksgiving. I have seen this movie before, but it struck me this time, that these men were thankful, even in their extreme sorrow and pain. Squanto had been taken as a slave, brought to Spain and sold to friars. He was given his freedom after 2 years and sent to England to another Christian man, who told him he would send him home to America. Squanto then worked for 2 years to earn his way home. When the time came, he sailed home to America, only to find his entire village, his family, gone. The nearby tribe told him of their horrible fate, small pox had taken the entire village. Squanto was betrayed by these European people and then lost his family to their disease.

William Bradford, on the other hand, was a European. He was an orphan who was taken in by the Separatist group and learned their faith. He was amongst the group who was persecuted and threatened. He moved to Holland to escape religious persecution. He was decimated against and could not find work; he was hunted by King James’ men to be killed. He left all he knew to come to America to worship God freely. He and many of the Separatists came on the Mayflower and became known as Pilgrims. They were filled with hope and joy, believing they could now worship God freely. But when they got to America, winter was looming and half of the group died before spring came.

Both had experience pain and betrayal; sorrow and loneliness. Squanto knew of their faith, from the friars and the man in London. William Bradford knew of the Native people through stories he had heard. The Massasoit Chief, who had taken Squanto in, had to coax him to meet with these Pilgrim people, who had built their village where his village once stood. He came and told his story, William shared his story. It was there that the 2 men overcame their hurt and began to learn from one another. Squanto taught these men everything he knew about surviving on the land and William welcomed him in his home as a brother.

When fall came, there was a great bountiful harvest. To celebrate the goodness of their Lord and the friendship of Squanto and his new tribe, the Pilgrims invited the Massasoit people to share in this harvest. They called it a day of Thanksgiving.

In the deepest part of his pain, Squanto had a heart of thankfulness. William Bradford, who could have lost hope, had thankfulness. Things did not happen the way they had hoped or wished for, yet they continued to live with a heart of thankfulness. So much so, that it overflowed into a celebration that is still being celebrated 400 years later. That is the kind of thankfulness I want to have. The kind that transcends hurt and pain and conveniences, the kind that leaves a legacy for my children and grandchildren and last 400 years.

I want to be a woman, who is thankful in the deepest, darkest and painful places of my life. I want to be thankful for my trials and tribulations, knowing that, not only is God perfecting my faith, but that he is using me for a purpose I may not understand, a purpose that changes the course of history, a purpose that touches the lives of many, a purpose that glorifies God.

That is what happened with Squanto. His pain, his sorrow, his slavery became the very thing that saved the Pilgrims. He knew how to speak their language, he knew their faith, and he knew the land they lived on in America. If he had not been taken as a slave, he would have died with the rest of his family, and the Pilgrims might have all perished that next winter. WE may not know or understand the things that we experience. It may be unfair and unjust. It may be hard and debilitating. It may seem overwhelming and unbearable, but we have to be thankful for the trials, trusting that our Lord has a purpose in it. May we be like Squanto and William, who learned to be thankful in the deepest places of their hurt. They were not just thankful for the harvest, they were thankful for so much more.

So, I choose to be thankful in the pain. I choose to be thankful in the uncertainty. I choose to be thankful for the places I have been and the roads I have walked on. For in these circumstances, I know that the Lord has a greater purpose.

Happy Thanksgiving