When Thanksgiving Feels Heavy, Not HappyThanksgiving is on Thursday. This can be such a difficult holiday for so many. And perhaps you find yourself dreading it this year.
Maybe there’s an empty chair at the table that didn’t used to be there.
Perhaps the traditions you once held so tightly now feel unimportant.
Maybe instead of excitement and anticipation, you’re feeling sadness and dread.
Perhaps the traditions you once held so tightly now feel unimportant.
Maybe instead of excitement and anticipation, you’re feeling sadness and dread.
It’s okay if you aren’t looking forward to Thanksgiving. You don’t have to force gratitude that isn’t genuine. God isn’t disappointed in you for feeling the weight of your loss.
And maybe things need to be different this year.
When I was deep in grief during those first few holidays, it was hard to get into the spirit of the season. I missed Jon so much and felt like grief would always be heavy. It was easy to give in to despair and anger – and for a while, I did – but that only made the heaviness worse. Over time, I found I had to be intentional with my thoughts. Choosing to focus on Christ and His promises helped me notice the small blessings right in front of me. It didn’t take away the grief, but it helped refocus my heart so I wouldn’t stay trapped in isolation and bitterness.
I want to encourage you to look for the small things that offer joy — the things that give you even a moment of peace. Reflect on how God has sustained you so far.
This Thanksgiving, maybe gratitude isn’t found in the feast, the gathering, or the traditions. Maybe it’s simply in pausing to remember the goodness and faithfulness of God — even here, even now. You don’t have to be excited or go all out this year. Maybe just sitting in the quiet, reflecting on God’s promises, is enough. Promises like:
“I will never leave you nor forsake you.” — Hebrews 13:5
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted.” — Psalm 34:18
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” — Matthew 5:4
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end.” — Lamentations 3:22–23
“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more.” — Revelation 21:4
These promises don’t erase the pain, but they remind us that our pain isn’t the end of the story. Gratitude begins here — not in pretending everything is okay, but in remembering and choosing to focus on God, who is still faithful, still near, and still good.This Thanksgiving, even if gratitude looks different than it used to, may you find comfort in knowing that God is still with you — holding you, sustaining you, and giving you enough grace for today.
If you’re walking through grief and need a quiet place to process, I have created resources specifically for you in my Etsy shop, HOPE & HARMONY PAGES. These three digital printables work on their own and hand in hand with each other:
30 SCRIPTURE CARDS FOR GRIEF. If you know someone these might encourage, I would be honored if you’d share these resources—and my blog—with them.
Gratitude Doesn't Cancel Grief
The first time I didn’t cry myself to sleep after my husband passed, I felt guilty.
Was I forgetting him?
Was I forgetting him?
When I found myself enjoying little blessings — a kind friend who showed up with a meal, the sand in my toes at the beach, or a song that brought comfort — I wondered if my grief was fading.
It sometimes felt like if I was happy or enjoying something, I wasn’t missing Jon enough. But that simply wasn’t true.
It took me a long time to realize that gratitude doesn’t erase grief. They can exist together. Both can be true.
Read more...When Gratitude Feels Impossible
Grief is hard.
It’s heavy.
It’s an impossible burden to carry.
It’s heavy.
It’s an impossible burden to carry.
It feels like you’re always going to feel this way. You’re angry, sad, overwhelmed, and completely spent. There are endless questions — Why did this happen? Why do I have to feel this way? When will it stop? You can’t imagine ever moving through the grief to the other side. And part of you doesn’t even want to, because that might mean you’re forgetting.
Grief can feel intense, exhausting, and completely unfair.
I get it. I experienced all of this when my husband passed. Some days, the weight of it all made it nearly impossible to get out of bed. Other days brought a brief sense of relief — only to be followed by guilt because maybe I wasn't missing him enough.
Read more...Not all losses come at once. Some unfold slowly, and others only become clear much later. When Jon became sick and eventually passed away, I discovered layer after layer of loss I wasn’t prepared for.
Some of those losses happened gradually. As Jon’s cancer progressed, he wasn’t able to handle the responsibilities he once carried. Slowly, the things he took care of became mine to manage. Dinner around the table as a family grew less frequent as his appetite faded. The dreams we once talked about for our future—retirement, travel, growing old together—slipped away piece by piece. And as his illness worsened, my sense of direction vanished. My “map” for life had always included Jon, and when his journey ended, mine felt blank.
Other losses became painfully clear after he was gone. Jon was my safe place. I could share my fears, my struggles, and even my shortcomings without judgment. He knew me completely and loved me anyway. Without him, I felt exposed and unanchored. I also lost my encourager—the one who reminded me of what I was doing well, who cheered me on in motherhood, in faith, and in life. His words carried me through so many seasons, and their absence left a deep silence.
Read more...When a loved one dies, it’s easy to see what is lost. But the loss is so much bigger than just the person.
When my husband Jon passed away, I had no idea the magnitude of loss I was facing. Of course, I grieved losing him—but as the days and months went on, I realized there were so many other pieces of my life that disappeared with him.
One of the hardest parts was the loss of identity. Overnight, I went from being a wife to being a widow. I had also been Jon’s caregiver for 3 ½ years, a role I never expected to take on but one that became my full-time job. Suddenly, that role was gone, and I was left with empty hands and an aching heart, unsure of what to do with myself. I also became a single mom in an instant, carrying the weight of parenting alone while grieving at the same time. On top of that I had to adjust to losing my identity as a pastor’s wife. For years, that had shaped the way people saw me and my role in the church, and it took a long time to unravel and learn how to simply be a regular church member.
Read more...
