Gratitude For The Struggle
November often reminds us to be grateful. Social media fills with posts about family, children, homes, and work—all good gifts worth celebrating. But it makes me wonder what our private journals hold. Do our honest thoughts match what we show the world?
I’ve never been one to join the November gratitude tradition, for two reasons. First, I don’t want to be hypocritical; there have been years when gratitude did not come easily. And second, I try to practice gratitude year-round. It isn’t always simple, but I continue to challenge myself to persevere and look for the good in all things.
I hadn’t planned to write a Thanksgiving post this year—until I felt the Holy Spirit nudge me. As I listened, I was reminded to be thankful for the struggle. For the seasons of hurt, pain, trauma, and grief that have shaped me far more deeply than any season of ease or happiness.
It is only looking back that I can see all God has done in me and through me—for my good and for His kingdom. In the hardest seasons, He has built my understanding of His faithfulness and trustworthiness. He has shown me His character—dependable, steady, never changing.
These are the seasons I would never choose and would never want to relive, yet they are the seasons I am most grateful for. It is in the hard places that I have learned to rely on God, seen His faithfulness, and grown closer to Him. It is there, when I felt I had nothing but Him, that He proved time and again that He is enough. It is there that I learned to cling to His Word. And how could I not be thankful for that?
Year after year, our lives move through seasons. Some feel like long days in the sunshine; others feel like a winter storm where we hide under blankets and wait for the thaw. Just as the earth cycles through fall, winter, spring, and summer, our souls cycle through contentment, joy, anticipation, and struggle. Every season shapes us—sometimes positively, sometimes painfully, always purposefully.
In the beginning of a hard season, I often feel the anticipation and uncertainty.
In the middle, I wrestle with my deepest questions and my deepest dependence.
In the aftermath, I see the growth I could never have gained any other way.
It is in these seasons that God teaches me who I really am, who He is, and who He is shaping me to be.
It is here that I pray bold prayers—ones I don’t fully understand, yet offer in faith.
It is here I sit quietly, pray loudly, mourn deeply, cry in frustration, and allow God to refine me.
It is here I see my own sin and the places where pride has settled in.
It is here God gently removes me from the throne I keep placing myself on.
It is here I become more like Jesus.
It is here He meets me—and calls me to more.
As I prepare to gather with friends and family in the coming days, I feel both joy and tension. Holiday tables hold both—warm laughter and complicated relationships. I pray I embrace each one. I pray the light of Jesus shines through me—to those who are easy to love and those who are harder.
Many around us are walking through seasons we know nothing about. May I offer them the same mercy God offers me.
As carriers of His light, we are called into dark places—sometimes even within our own families. So choose joy. Choose contentment. Choose gratitude. Choose love. Be grateful for the breath in your lungs, the people around your table, and the mercy God pours out daily.
And when your own light feels dim, let His shine through you.