Gratitude in the Midst of Grief

I drive down my childhood street, the familiar curve of the road almost comforting, but as I approach the house, something shifts. It looks the same—white with black shutters—but it doesn’t feel the same. I walk through the front door, and it hits me like a wave: everything’s frozen in time, yet somehow everything has changed. Mom’s journals are exactly where I left them six months ago, her Bible still sits on the piano lid, and the house is quieter than I ever remember. It’s like the walls themselves are holding their breath. Thanksgiving is tomorrow, but the usual warmth and bustle are absent. The house isn’t decorated for Christmas as it would be by now, the scent of home-cooked meals doesn’t fill the air, and Mom’s seat at the table remains heartbreakingly empty. The world feels like it’s moved on, but here I am, still trying to figure out how to move through the emptiness.

I find myself staring at the place where we always gathered, and suddenly, I can’t seem to find anything to be thankful for. Maybe you know the feeling—when grief casts a shadow so heavy that gratitude seems out of reach. But in this brokenness, I've come to realize something: even in the hardest moments, we can still choose gratitude. It’s not always easy, but it’s a choice I’ve had to make time and time again. If you’re struggling, maybe it’s a choice you can take small steps toward, too.

It's Okay to Be Disappointed in Your Story

After my mom passed away, people often said things like, “God needed her more than we did,” or, “Be strong,” or, “She’s in a better place.” While their intentions were pure, their words didn’t ease the pain of losing her or seeing her seat at our table empty. What hurt even more, though, was how life just kept moving on, as if she had never died.

In the weeks after her passing, even simple things like grocery store visits felt surreal. Watching others celebrate life with their moms was especially hard—it was a constant reminder that I would never have that again. More times than I can count, I’ve shoved my emotions aside to keep up with life, pay the bills, and, to put it bluntly, just survive. The last three years have been exactly that: surviving the loss of my mom.

And if I’m being honest, the disappointment I’ve felt toward God for not showing up the way I hoped still lingers. It still hurts.

So, I’m not going to tell you to “be strong,” or “move on,” or “put on a smile.” Instead, I want to give you permission to sit in it. Sometimes, we just need someone to say, “It’s okay.”

It’s okay to not be okay.

It’s okay to wonder why and to ask God hard questions.

It’s okay to feel confused and angry.

It’s okay to grieve.

It’s okay to feel disappointed in how your story has unfolded so far.

It's okay to cry.

It's okay not to cry.

It's okay to wish things were different.

Grief and Gratitude Can CoExist

I remember after my mom passed away, I took on her job of caring for a beautiful Old English Sheepdog named Jessie. On our walks, I spent so much time talking out loud—to God and to my mom. I’d look up at the sky, wondering what she might be experiencing. I’d feel a glimmer of hope as I pictured her smiling, truly satisfied in the presence of her Savior. But then I’d look back down at the road ahead of me, wondering why she couldn’t have stayed just a little longer.

In those moments, my grief and gratitude coexisted, though I didn’t realize it at the time. I’ve had so many moments like that since.

One day, as I was walking Jessie, I felt particularly low—forgotten by God, even. Everything around me felt gray and heavy, and no sermon, song, or phone call from a friend could pull me out of it. I just needed to be sad.

As Christians, we’re often taught to always be happy, and sometimes we mistake gratitude for cheerfulness. But I think we’ve misunderstood something here. When I looked up the definition of gratitude, it included words like thankfulness, recognition, respect, and appreciation—but it said nothing about happiness or joy.

On that walk, I desperately needed a word from God—something to assure me that it was okay to feel the weight of my despair and the sting of disappointment in how His plan had unfolded. I needed to know it was okay to pour out my heart, to tell Him that I felt unseen and, in that moment, even unloved.

That’s when I found a verse that set me free. Even now, I return to it for its raw honesty, reminding me that God doesn’t ask us to stop being human. He gave us emotions and hearts for a reason.

It’s possible to express your grief to God while still being grateful. In fact, both can coexist beautifully.

Psalm 13

How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?    

How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I wrestle with my thoughts 

and day after day have sorrow in my heart?    

How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, Lord my God.    

Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,

and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”

and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

But I trust in your unfailing love;   

my heart rejoices in your salvation.

I will sing the Lord’s praise,    

for he has been good to me.

When I first read Psalm 13, I was struck by its raw honesty. David's lament mirrored my own—feeling forgotten, overwhelmed, and wondering where God was in my pain. There have been times I have buried my grief, afraid to express how deeply I was hurting in order to "be strong." But here was a psalmist, a man of faith, crying out with no filter, laying it all before God. And in that moment, I realized that it’s okay to wrestle with God, to express my hurt, and still trust in His love and goodness.

Gratitude is Choice

David doesn't stop at his grief. He moves through it with a declaration of trust: ‘But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.’ For me, this has become a picture of gratitude as a choice. Even in the darkest moments, when everything feels like it's falling apart, we can still choose to hold on to what we know is true—God’s love is unfailing, and His promises are real. I know that God has saved my mom, and she is more alive now in Heaven than ever before. Gratitude doesn’t mean ignoring the pain—it means holding onto the good in the midst of the bad, remembering that even in sorrow, God is still good.

Choosing to see the good in even the hardest times isn’t about trying to "pay back" God for His gift of eternity; in many ways, it’s been for the well-being of my own heart while I’m here on earth. Gratitude clears out the weight of negativity in my heart, making space for what truly matters.

I’ve found that not only does God deserve the praise for His work in my life, but because of the gift He’s allowed me to receive, gratitude naturally flows from my heart. And you know what? I also often feel supernatural joy when I choose to be grateful.

The greatest gift my mother gave me was sharing the love of God with me. The same Spirit that lived inside her—the one full of grace, gratitude, joy, peace, patience, and love—also lives inside me. Through Christ, I have hope and strength for another day. As I continue to focus on Jesus, my bitterness and anger fall away, leaving behind a sweet mixture of gratitude and grief that points me back to the truth: this place is not my home. God has written eternity on every single one of our hearts.

One of my favorite verses that reminds me of my eternal home—and how God’s creation, even death, points us back to Him—is Ecclesiastes 3:11:

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.”

How to Stay Grateful

Friend, I have no idea what you're going through right now, but something I often forgot while walking down the grocery store aisles after my mom passed away is that, though the world seemed to keep spinning, that didn’t mean there weren’t others around me whose worlds had also stopped. We are all in this together. I want to invite you to allow yourself to not be okay this holiday season, while also finding gratitude in your heart.

One of the worst things that could have happened after my mom’s passing wasn’t all the changes in family dynamics, her absence from our dinner table, missing her hugs, or wishing I could have one last home-cooked meal. The worst thing that could have happened was letting my heart become hardened by her loss and the hardships that followed.

There have been moments when my heart became hardened by pain, bitterness, and resentment. When I become aware of the weight in my chest, I’m reminded that I need to fix my eyes on things above. I need Jesus. I can’t make it on my own. I need to tell stories of gratitude. I need to remind myself of the gospel. I need to find gratitude in the littlest of things, like a cup of coffee in the morning, and in the largest of things I often take for granted—like the breath in my lungs.

As long as both of us are here, I know God’s not done with our stories. Life may not be what we thought it would be, but I pray that every time you choose gratitude, you are reminded that someone might one day need to hear how you chose Jesus, healing, growth, and gratitude over a hardened heart. That one day, you’ll have the chance to set someone free by allowing them to fall apart in your arms, while also being a beacon of hope. Through Christ, we are overcomers, and there is joy in the morning.

This Thanksgiving, I want to encourage you to make journaling a daily practice. Write down five things you’re thankful for each day until the new year. Reflect on stories of gratitude, and don’t shy away from finding the good, even in the hardships you’ve faced. And if you can, reach out to someone who might be struggling. The comfort we’ve received from Christ through others is something we can pass on, and in doing so, it can even strengthen our own hearts. As 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 reminds us: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”

Journaling my prayers and reflections on gratitude has had a profound impact on my life, helping me stay grounded. It’s allowed me to pause amidst life’s busyness and remember that it’s not I who live, but Christ in me. That truth is easy to take for granted—sometimes even now. I’ll leave you with a passage that has recentered my heart time and time again, especially during moments when bitterness and depression crept in. Philippians 4:8-9 says:

“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.”

Reflections

"Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." - Colossians 3:15-17

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CNGy2ZrZPxA

Prayer

Dear Lord,

I come before You with a heart that is heavy, yet still longing for Your peace. Grief fills me in ways words cannot express, and in this season, it feels as though my world has stopped while the world around me continues on. Yet, even here, I know You are near.

Lord, help me to sit with my sorrow without shame, to ask the hard questions without fear, and to acknowledge the pain without holding back. Remind me that it is okay to not be okay, and that You, in Your infinite love, can handle the deepest cries of my heart.

I pray for the strength to choose gratitude. It’s not easy, Lord, but I trust that You can bring beauty even from the brokeness of my heart. Help me to see Your hand at work in the smallest of moments—the quiet gifts of grace, the memories that still bring a smile, the love that never dies.

I thank You, Lord. God, give me the courage to keep walking through the grief and the wisdom to remember that both sorrow and gratitude can coexist. May I lean into Your promises, even when they feel distant, and trust that Your love is unfailing.

In the name of Jesus, I pray, Amen.