3 Bad Things I’m Thankful for This Thanksgiving

Here are three Thanksgiving calamities for which I am grateful.

In the autumn, the leaves and front steps of neighborhoods become a vibrant tapestry of warm colors like orange, yellow, and red. Even though it knows winter is coming, it nonetheless speaks of its beauty in hushed tones. During this season, nature has made the conscious decision to express gratitude. In spite of the inevitable chill in the air, autumn chooses to display the glory of God.

I believe it would be fitting to take cues from nature as Thanksgiving approaches. The harsh winter weather and high costs associated with the Christmas season are two further examples of how difficult life can be. The absence of a loved one may make even the happiest of occasions seem sour. So, if we don’t feel appreciative, how can we take pleasure in this lovely time of year? To the point that we have a hard time keeping track of all our blessings?

I can’t tell you why bad things happen, but I can tell you how I’ve learned to cope with them: by thanking God.

I’m sorry if that’s not the response you were hoping for. But come along with me as I explore the path of gratitude even in the midst of the darkest, most excruciating agony (and discover God in it all).

To begin, these are the three bad things for which I am most grateful:

1. My Mental Disorder

I’ve been diagnosed with OCD. Serotonin, released by my brain’s neurotransmitters, is intended to make me feel good and help me see the bright side of things. Unfortunately, the majority of my neurotransmitters are blocked, thus my body does not get the benefits of a sufficient level of serotonin.

So it’s easy for me to get caught up in what-if thinking. My brain is permanently stuck in “fight or flight” mode due to a lack of serotonin, which inhibits my ability to rationally and effectively handle ordinary events. After all, our adrenal glands signal our bodies to panic if we feel we are in a situation of irrational danger and logical reasoning fails to alleviate our anxiety. Because of this, it strives to guard us as best it can.

Yet, I am in no danger… There’s no way for the serotonin to enter my system and make me aware. That’s why I keep thinking about it and doing things over and again to disprove it.

OCD was included in the top 10 most disabling conditions by the World Health Organization around five years ago, alongside Diabetes and lung ailments. It makes it difficult, if not impossible, to carry out even the most basic of tasks, much less to take pleasure in life.

For twenty years, I tried to hide my obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) from everyone except myself. The first signs of OCD appeared when I was four years old, but they returned with a vengeance once I entered adulthood and found that reality was much less forgiving than they had been led to believe. I got over my pride and sought help at a therapist, where I was given the tools (and medication) to cope with my condition.

I am thankful that there is currently no treatment for my obsessive-compulsive disorder.

I’m grateful for the prick in my side who, like a daily miracle, finds a home in the white pill I take first thing in the morning and ruins an even greater amount of pride deep inside my spirit. Without my OCD, I doubt I would have taken such a deep dive into the realm of vulnerability, rejecting the ideal of perfection and letting others (particularly those in my Christian community) know that life isn’t always peachy.

Because of OCD, I had to go down on my knees in a manner that was both humiliating and reverent. In the midst of an incurable, evil illness, I discovered God. I’ve learned that God doesn’t always remove the difficulties I face; rather, he chooses to sit with me, hurting alongside me, as I find solace in the commonplace: laughing with my husband who has stuck by my side through counseling; smiling at a sunrise when I notice a new shade of pink it boasts; telling others that life isn’t always peachy and hearing them say, “I thought I was the only one. For the first time, I realize I am not alone.

After realizing that we are given the opportunity to continually heal and never truly achieve an ultimate “repair,” I have never felt more human or at ease in my own imperfect skin. However, each day we get closer to the Great Physician as we learn to walk hand in hand with him.

2. Broken Friendships

For five years this month, I’ve been sad over the death of a close friend. We went to the same elementary school, were good friends in high school, and were inseparable throughout college, meeting regularly at Waffle House and going to the movies together despite her having to drive an hour each way. As unwavering as my love for pumpkin spice lattes is, so too was our undying allegiance to one another (with white foam and caramel drizzle).

Like the changing of the seasons, though, the passage of time alters us, forcing us into new epochs even if we haven’t fully processed our past. We become frightened of the future as time passes. And I believe it was the beginning of the end for us. We were at an age when we could assess the long-term effects of trauma, broken families, and increasing responsibilities. We all had our own histories to overcome, and we did it in various ways; our perspectives changed, but in different ways.

Our worldviews diverged to such an extent that we could no longer communicate effectively. Then one morning we both realized our relationship had entered its winter season. Nothing bloomed, no vibrant hues could be seen, and sourness was all too common.

My relationship with her has ended. Every part of me longs for her again.

A lesson I’ve learned from this shattered relationship is how valuable my current, healthy connections are. It has shown me that investing in another person isn’t a one-way street but rather a two-way one. You can’t just say, “If she messages me first, I’ll text back.” Compared to that, it is wider and deeper. This calls for more altruism on your part. You need to be ready to stick it out during the colder months, even if it means not talking every day or taking turns doing the dirty labor.

I learned persistence from this failed connection, and hope from the biblical promise that “hope springs eternal” ().

The same holds true for my views on romantic partnerships. I prayed to God for over three years that the guy I was seeing would turn out to be my soul mate. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to win this man’s heart. Plus, he was unable to. And certainly not in the manner my spouse does.

In the midst of my pain, my anger, my questions, and my seasons of isolation, God brought me to a man who would love and care for me in a manner that no other had.

The pain of losing such a love is well worth it. In gratitude, I say thank you.

3. Grief

My grandpa died away in 2015, four days before Christmas. That winter was not one of joy and celebration; rather, it was bleak, silent, gloomy, and devoid of color. All of us were sad, but in our own ways. We did not know how to approach one another or even how to ask how each other was doing. No one could tell us when it was OK to joke about or refer to my grandpa as a thing of the past.

Even before the thermometer dipped below fifty degrees, we were teetering precariously on winter’s ice.

Because of our loss, we were in a muddled emotional state.

On the other hand, I’ve learned that it’s okay to experience both sadness and healing at once. At my grandfather’s grave, I feel closest to God and can hear him clearly. Whenever I pay a visit to my Grandpa, I feel like I’m having a conversation with the Almighty.

While I am saddened by death, I am grateful to God for the promise of life beyond the dead. Without suffering, I doubt I would appreciate the value of what I get.

I don’t believe we’re ever asked to “get over” losing someone or anything important, but I may be wrong. Instead, I think we should use the time of mourning to focus on the here and now and to keep pressing on toward God as we seek to understand what is ahead.

Grief has taught me gratitude. Truly.

When I think about Thanksgiving, I don’t know whether I should see you surrounded by colorful foliage or a bleak life cycle. I don’t have any answers, and I refuse to pretend that God always works within the parameters I find acceptable.

I can only tell you that I have seen the beauty that came from the ashes, that God, in his own strange way, can turn even the worst things wonderful. And if the coming of autumn and winter are joined in his beneficent hands, I will survive till the coming of spring.

May the joy of Thanksgiving be yours.