Thankfulness in a time of doubt

As friends of mine in the US settle down to celebrate Thanksgiving, I feel a sense of sadness this year. I like Thanksgiving, although it’s not something we do in Malaysia. Many years ago, some dear friends from the US who were living in Malaysia included me in their Thanksgiving celebrations over here. There was something about it that I really loved. I used to tell my dad that there was so much for us to be thankful for. He’d heartily agree with me. So, whilst we never marked it with any formal celebration, it was always a day that I made a conscious effort to thank God for the many blessings He has granted me. This time round, it feels like the blessings are gone.

My home will never be the same again. The loss of my mum way back in 2006 transformed home. It was hard to get used to her absence, and it took me a long time to feel okay again. My dad was instrumental there. He didn’t push me into anything. I appreciated that. Sadness wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, I sometimes felt. It’s not a popular emotion, and I think it’s one we are taught to try and ward off, like some kind of evil spirit. My dad’s passing in 2023 means that my home is completely shattered. There’s nothing that’s going to make it okay as long as I live. I know this. I find myself in such deep throngs of sadness knowing that. Home was really my mum and dad. How I miss them. It really is too much to bear.

Life has a way of just happening. Isn’t that what they say? ‘Life happens.’ Tell you what, it’s not always a good feeling either. There can be moments of joy, rejoicing, and cheer. Those are social media worthy in today’s world. Post only the celebrations. Leave out sadness. When life happens, it can also be a downer. It can break you, or jolly well come close to it. Life isn’t always easy. That was what I said to God this morning. That and a series of ‘whys’ and ‘how will I continue’ styled questions. There are things that happen which are so unfair, it hurts. It shows up all the adages that people cling on to. Work hard, you’ll be rewarded. Really? Says who? Never give up or never say die. That’s the winner’s mentality. Really? Believe in yourself, you’ve got this. Really? Right now, they sound like loud clanging noises on an empty tin can.

The other problem that happens when something goes wrong is that you can’t always talk about it. There are sensitivities that prevent you from sharing. Sometimes it feels like such a façade, pretending that everything is hunky dory, when you know a storm is coming. You know that you don’t deserve that storm – that your umbrella was snatched away from you and your refuge taken over. It can feel like you’re all alone. That makes me miss home so much. Home with my mum and dad was always a safe space. I was always thankful. I could come home with the worst problems, feel completely ripped apart, but they would always pick me up. This year, as Thanksgiving approaches, I feel a real struggle to be thankful for my home as it is now. I miss home as it was. I miss it with every heartbeat. I miss it.

Sometimes I want to scream out at God. I am thankful for the psalms that show us how to take all these raw emotions to Him. It does get hard. I start to doubt. I doubt everything. I doubt myself. Should I have seen the storm coming? Should I have got out of there? Was I blinded by unfounded optimism? Have I lost my edge? Am I even relevant? Then I doubt Him. Why does He let these things happen? Why isn’t He screaming out at me when I read the Bible? Why isn’t He whispering to me when I sit in the quiet of the morning, trying to spend time with Him? Why isn’t He giving me a break? The doubts don’t stop. They come in waves. They keep pounding on my door. What are you doing? Is this faith even worth it?

Then the strangest thing happens. Something gives as I’m wrestling with these questions before Him. Mind you, I have adopted some strategies. I list out what I can rely on and what I can’t. The ‘can’t be relied upon’ side of the list gets filled out extremely fast. I often need to have a moment to rest my hands, the result of writing so much so quickly. I am ambidextrous, so both hands get used to the point that they can write no more. At points I must slowly peel my fingers off my pen, the anxiety showing in how tightly I gripped my pen. After a moment, I look at the things on which I can rely. There is a truth I believe. That truth is that God is good. I rely on that. It is part of my psyche. I cannot imagine otherwise. As I write this truth down as something I can rely on, I start writing down little prompts of things that happened to all those familiar characters in the Bible. Some of my favorites are Abraham asking God how he was to know that he would possess the land that God promised Him (Genesis 15:8), Thomas saying he wouldn’t believe until he felt the wounds on Jesus’ body (John 20: 25), or where my poetic king David (who was ruddy, handsome, and had beautiful eyes) asks the age old question of ‘How long, O LORD?’ There are many more examples of course. As I am reminded of similar struggles with doubt and anxiety in a whole load of circumstances. I don’t like saying that their circumstances were worse than mine, because I don’t want to dismiss the ferocity of the storm that looms. But the storm isn’t the focus at this point. It is the voice that can calm the storm that is speaking by this point.

As I express my doubts and fears over the storm that I’m facing, there is another hurdle. I hear a voice, which sounds eerily like my own, which asks if I could have done better. The transactional aspect of my faith pops up, unfortunately, to make me feel worse. My mind starts racing to think back on the good and bad things that I’ve done, like a child wondering if they’re on Santa’s good or bad list. It is hard to explain how I freeze, and almost give up at this point. Can I rely on my own goodness as I call out to God for help during the storm? I love the examples of the characters from the Bible that struggle with doubt in their struggles. Abraham displayed moments of cowardice at various points, and even tried to shield himself using Sarah. Thomas who spent time with Jesus and the other apostles wasn’t willing to admit that they could have seen him. He needed more. Then, there’s my favorite king David whose recorded transgressions could be the source of many Netflix adaptations. These people I read about are in many ways like me. So flawed. Their stories give me courage because God always meets them where they need Him to. It’s overwhelming to think about this. Why would God even do this?

There is one example of perfection, which comes in the person of Jesus. In the Garden of Gethsemane, scripture says that Jesus sweated drops of blood (Luke 22:44). Jesus felt anguish and deep sorrow and was overwhelmed by it all (Matthew 26:38, Mark 14:34). Jesus must have known the terror that awaited Him. He had willingly counted Himself as one of us when He lined up to be baptized. He knew the punishment, and worse still, the total abandonment by God, at a time when He was at His deepest need. And that’s it right there. Jesus lived that perfect life and in His moment of terror was totally abandoned. Through this, He purchased mercy, and grace for me. Because He faced the injustice of abandonment when He was taking the greatest brutality ever inflicted, I can have faith that God will not abandon me in the storm that I am in. That is sobering. This realization hits home hard for me for it means that despite this storm that I am in right now, despite missing home as I knew it with my mum and dad, and then as I knew it with my dad, despite the sadness that I feel enveloped in, I have much to be thankful for. I can join the psalmist and say in the face of my doubts when I am losing my foothold, where the waters roar and the mountains tremble, that God is my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble (Psalm 46). I am thankful. I am so very thankful. He is good. I can rely on that. I am thankful even in the midst of this storm.