The Discipline of Thanksgiving

You rule over the surging sea; when its waves mount up, you still them. Psalm 89:9

Again and again and again Lord You bring this word to me lately…

And now it is Anne’s opening word tonight at prayer, which I barely made it to because of the enemy.

My heart cry is, not just more of You, Jesus. All of You.

-from my journal around 6:30 pm on November 6, 2019.

From my journal entry to friends and family on the Caring Bridge, the next evening, November 7:

“You rule over the surging sea, and when its waves mount up, you still them.” -Psalm 89:9

They told us the first 24 hours would be critical. So we reached out to you, and you stormed heaven with your prayers. We have watched the surging sea, the mounting waves which we thought last night in the long, dark watches might sweep us under, grow still. Thank you.

In the past four hours, our son has made the following improvements:

1. cooperation and success with his feeding tube, allowing crucial nutrients to nourish his body and healing process

2. improved kidney function after plasma transfusions

3. improved color of burn sites

4. continued pulse in his feet (a vital sign checked in circumferential burns, those that encircle a limb and can cause restricted blood flow)

5. reduced pain level (he was actually able to have a conversation with his wound care nurse).

6. a positive attitude

We want to thank: 

-our Savior, who we know is able to keep that which we have entrusted to Him until that day

-our family

-the firefighters who worked tirelessly in our house last night, even as we had to rush away to the hospital.

-the friends and neighbors who showed up and just did what needed to be done for us without being asked (and are still doing so).

-our church family

-our church prayer team

-all who are praying and interceding for us, sending messages and reaching out

-countless others who have been at the right place, at the right time, and opened doors to expedite the process to get Joshua to the specialty center in record time.

After the prayer meeting on November 6, I had returned to my home to find it filled with rescue workers. My husband was already gone, racing our son to the emergency room.

Our fifteen-year-old aspiring chef had been cooking dinner for us when a pan exploded, igniting a raging grease fire. He fought to save our dogs and our house instead of running out. Because of his heroism, our child was trapped in the flames and critically burned.

We were plucked from our lives that night. Picked right up and put right down in another universe. A universe where the discipline of thanksgiving would become a road rising up in the midst of suffering allowing us to walk forward when we otherwise might have collapsed from the sheer pain and fear of it all.

It seems only right to me that now, a year later, I process this with you. In one sense with the invasion of a global pandemic, humanity has been plucked from her life and put right down in another universe. It follows that just perhaps, the discipline of thanksgiving will help you walk forward too, like it did my family, even when the way seems shrouded in uncertainty.

Welcome to my heart, my family, my thanksgiving journey. This is not a sermon or an indirect guilt trip on how to be more thankful. It is merely our story, and it has been a hard one. You have a story too, and I pray ours will encourage you in yours.

Thanksgiving is not always easy or natural. Especially when we are terrified. But thanksgiving opens the door to #hope. #thanksgiving #suffering Share on X

Who can think about gratitude when suffering rips your world apart? When grief rolls over you in tsunami waves and you cannot see the surface? When fear has you in a full-on tumble?

Thank God I was writing down His promises, the truths He was faithful to show me. I am no model journaler. I do not write in my journal every day. But last year was different. We were seeking God with vigor, asking for His next steps in our life. I was writing much more down than normal because it seemed He was saying much more to me. (That is not always the case; sometimes heaven seems a bit silent.) 

Now, when I read last year’s journal, it’s like a bestselling novel. The protagonist has no idea what’s coming. Then tragedy strikes and her life is changed. Will she survive? Will she grow? Will she emerge a better person? Will her faith be weakened or strengthened? Is God good?

Maybe one day our story will become a book if I find the courage to be that transparent. Suffering renders one vulnerable. But the power of God is made manifest in our pain if we invite Him in. That would be worth writing about.

The astonishing thing about it is that God prepared us. He equipped us. He gave evidence of what was coming, and how to persevere. So that on the evening of November 7, twenty-four hours after the moment I knelt in prayer at church and wrote the words of Psalm 89:9 in my journal, I read them again from an intensive care unit:

You rule over the surging sea; when its waves mount up, you still them. Psalm 89:9

Their precise relevance, their profound wisdom as we stood by our son’s hospital bed praying he would live, took my breath away.

And filled my mind and heart with thanksgiving.

Thus, I took my first two steps in the discipline of thanksgiving.

I looked to God.

Next, I gave thanks for what I could see.

And I could see so very, very much. Not only had God given me a word, a promise to sustain me in the surging sea of tragedy, He gave us so many people, so much help. 

The strangest thing happened. Impossible, really. My heart felt lighter. I felt hope. Even as my son lay unconscious, my young daughter sheltered miles away with friends, my oldest son fought anxiety about his little brother from his dorm room at college, my home was closed up and damaged by fire, and my husband stood weeping with me. 

All this could not stop hope. So we gave thanks, and we hoped on.

Thank God for unstoppable hope, and for the discipline of thanksgiving that made me see it.

Lord, give me eyes to see You in my circumstances and the will to thank You for what I see. Amen.

@audreycfrank