Shadows

Thanksgiving is a tricky holiday. For all families, to be sure. But ESPECIALLY blended families.

I tell myself, I tell my husband, I tell whichever kids are here (if any) what all I am thankful for all day. But the sad truth is, it’s all in a concerted effort to try to distract myself from what/who is missing.

This year, Caroline was missing. (Well, not missing. Just with her dad.) So it was Brad, Beau, Syd and me. Then Beau woke up sick and spent the day in bed. And then there were three. For the meal anyway.

The food was good. (Thank you, Boston Market). The custard was ALMOST right. (Amazing for our first attempt, Syd.) I love using my fine china, crystal and silver, even though I’m wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

Becoming a step-person immediately enrolls you in the Jedi training of adaptability. Rigidity has no place in the life of a blended family. If you can’t roll with the punches, well, you just won’t make it.

Brad and I have learned to make a family out of whomever we have. It can be two, five, three, one, four. But whatever version of ‘complete’ the schedule allows, we roll with it.

But that doesn’t mean we don’t feel the punch.

Several days ago, I began rereading the book of Job. It’s such an important book for us all to read. It could be retitled, WHY? The thought of ‘why do bad things happen to good people’ originated in the pages of Job.

God is bragging to Satan about one of His most obedient and upright children. Satan says he only loves God because his life is so good. So God allows Satan to destroy his life to prove he will worship his King no matter what.

Our holy and righteous God put the health and well-being of one of His beloved kids on the line. Basically, to win a bet with His enemy. And God DOES win of course. But the cost to Job is unspeakable.

Yet his faith stands firm:

The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away;
may the name of the Lord be praised. (1:21)

Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble? (2:10)

After Brad prayed for our food yesterday, I pulled up a video on my phone of my grandfather giving the Thanksgiving blessing several years ago. My beloved D-Daddy prayed for those in the family who ‘couldn’t be with us.’ Now he and my grandmother are in that category. And I miss them terribly.

So how do you celebrate Thanksgiving when some of your main blessings are missing?

I know how it’s supposed to go. When you count your blessings, you’re too busy basking in God’s goodness to remember any pain. Life feels perfect because of your seemingly never-ending list of earthly gifts. It feels almost shameful to acknowledge the holes in your happiness.

But there are holes. And they hurt. And they cause me to rethink what it means to be thankful.

Thankfulness no longer means greedily poring over my blessings like a miser and holding them tightly to myself lest they be snatched away. Forced maturity has taught me that all earthly gifts are fleeting, meant to be enjoyed, but held in an open hand, not a tight fist.

I remember one period of life when I was drowning in earthly happiness. Sometimes I relished it. Other times I peered suspiciously over my shoulder waiting for the inevitable shoe to fall.

And it did. Both of them did, actually.

And since then, life’s hard lines of black and white have softened into a spectrum of deep charcoals to pale grays. Few things are all good, all bad, all happy, all sad. It’s in pieces, all mixed up like a strange salad to be picked over.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. James 1:17

Shadows.

The word brings meanings such as fleeting, unreliable, dark, even scary at times. I still remember the Berenstein Bears ‘Afraid of the Dark’ from my childhood. To this day, before I lie down for the night, I scan the room for anything that might cast an unnerving shadow if I wake up in the middle of the night. I don’t need it.

I have always linked shadows to darkness. (Yep, still afraid of the dark at age 38.) But if you think about it, shadows only exist in the presence of LIGHT.

If it is completely dark, there are no shadows. There is nothing to be seen at all. But even a little nightlight, even the tiniest votive creates shadows. When light pierces the darkness, shadows inevitably follow.

Every holiday, every day is a choice. I can let the grief of what should be suffocate what is. Or I can intentionally open my hands to let the good and bad of life come and go as my Father wills it.

But there is great thanksgiving in the things meant to be held onto with white-knuckled fervor: My God does not change like shifting shadows. His word is truth, His salvation is complete, and His love is limitless.

What I have is constantly changing: material blessings, relationships, health. All are shifting shadows cowering in the blinding light of who God is.

For future holidays, I pray I will learn to rest in the gray. I will be thankful for the sweet shadows that pass in and out of my life, accepting them for what they are. Fleeting moments of joy, love and togetherness. Each one a grace from our Father, each one an undeserved gift.

Though I will always fight the entitlement of the way things SHOULD be, all those who SHOULD be with me, maybe even the way Aunt Mayme’s custard SHOULD have turned out, I am beginning to recognize that my presents don’t always require presence.

And the only thing I can truly count on is my God.

He doesn’t change.
He never leaves.
He can’t die. (Well, except for that one time, but it didn’t take.)
He doesn’t get in bad moods.
He is not flawed, fragile or failing.
He never misunderstands me.

The only time our relationship changes is when I, in my human frailty, step away. But as soon as I work it out and turn back toward Him, He’s right there. Never moved.

So thank You, Lord, for Your unending light that brings the precious shadows into my life, even for so brief a time.

And thank You for being the one thing in my life that never changes.