How can I thank God when my son is dead?
That thought alone sets off an explosion in my head!
“It Can’t be done!” Reason explains.
He is Dead. You are dead. The world is dead. There is no point.
Give up while the choice is still yours!
Can I say it any bigger, any bolder?
Just dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Why am I even going on?
The fact is true as the sky is blue. My son is gone; There can be no thanks in that!
And yet …
Before my son died,
I lingered in bed when the sun kissed my cheek through the window.
My mouth watered in anticipation of a warm chocolate chip cookie.
My heart delighted in silly bantering with my husband – who is right and who is wrong?
I looked forward to meals alongside my kids,
and their kids,
and their dog-kids.
I loved the sound of rain, especially when I was falling asleep.
Then… I thanked God for every enjoyable blessing.
Of course,
… then, it made sense.
And yet …
After my son died,
I still linger, anticipate, delight, banter, look forward to things, and love.
I am not dead. The world is not dead.
I am alive and creation still thrives with sun and rain and kids, and their kids, and their dog-kids.
And so, even if it makes no sense, I can thank God, even … now.
The choice is definitely mine.
So I choose.
And…
Before my son died,
I loved my son with a deep, sacrificial love – the kind that warmed, and hurt, and forgave, and forgave, and forgave.
After my son died:
I still love my son with a deep and sacrificial love – only now it aches to hug, and hug, and hug. So I do. I hug, and hug, and hug others who need those hugs like my son needed them.
There is a point. A particular point.
I remember how he reveled over a good barbeque,
a big jump in the pool,
a chill time at the bonfire,
and especially a spirited wrestle with his brother.
His smirky-grin dances in my memory and stitches a stitch in my broken heart.
Stitch by stitch. Stitch by stitch.
All this, a very profitable, particular point; Healing one stitch at a time.
The sun rises, the sun sets.
There is rhyme and there is reason.
“It Can be done!” I say.
There is no if, and, or but.
Joy reaches it’s potential when Sorrow is known in the gut, way down deep…. you can’t appreciate the good without knowing fully, the bad.
This is why I go on.
God is still God, and merciful, and compassionate, and powerful, and the same as He has always been.
God allowed for His own Son to die,
so that mine might live...
not just in my memory, or in my heart, but in heaven eternally.
Yes,
so I thank God for that!
How can I thank God when my son is dead?
This is how.
May you, dear reader, find Joy in abundance this Thanksgiving!
This is as big and as bold as it gets.
In the Battle 