Struggle Strategy: Subversive Gratitude

I think Bee is going to smack me if I say how thankful I am that we caught this early one more time.

And maybe I’ll deserve it.

But the truth is that type 1 diabetes is rarely caught before extremely unpleasant symptoms show up, and because of, honestly, God’s grace, a couple of PCMs who had my back, a whole lot of bloodwork that could’ve been considered overkill, and my dogged refusal to give up, here we are—at the hospital—with a diagnosis—learning the things we need to learn when the worst we’ve really had to deal with so far is a little fatigue…and the knowledge that our daughter was just given a life changing diagnosis.

So yes, it feels important to be grateful for where we are right now—even if the fact that our daughter has diabetes is no one’s favorite.

And there have been a lot of other things to say thank you for along the way.

A great endocrinology team, for one, and a fantastic Children’s hospital.

A kid who isn’t scared of needles and has been a total champ through this whole process.

Friends and family who have had our backs as our plans have pivoted on a dime.

My husband, here at the hospital with us.

Our other kids, uncomplainingly supporting us as we take care of their sister.

And these things are just the tip of the iceberg.

But much like our struggle strategy of planning should come with a warning label, practicing gratitude sometimes needs some fine print. When we say thank you, we cannot allow ourselves to whitewash the experience, and that is the fine line where Bee is allowably frustrated with me.

In our thanksgiving, we still need to make space for our grief.

I read Psalm 55 with Bee this morning. It starts with David, wishing he could escape from his own life. “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly away and be at rest!” And then he progresses to, “Evening and morning and at noon I utter my complaint and moan, and He hears my voice.” Together, Charis and I reminded ourselves that God can take our despair. He hears us. He’s with us. And often, that’s where we need to start before we can get to the end of the Psalm where we actively choose to trust the Lord again and figure out how to rest in His promises to us.

A major part of how we do that is through the practice of gratitude. And it really is a practice, a habit that we must choose to build. We teach ourselves to look for the ways He’s already provided and already been present, and we speak those truths back to ourselves.

We remember that two supposedly opposing things can be true at the same time. Life can be hard, and God can still be good. We can not like this, and we can still know that God is with us. We can wish we’d had different circumstances, and we can still trust that God is going to use our circumstances in ways we can’t anticipate.

Often, in the process of thinking through our gratitude, or counting the gifts, as Ann Voskamp so classically put it, our perspective shifts, and we find ourselves in an unexpected place of worship.

God, I would never have chosen this for my daughter, but wow, look at how You’re working.

If I could change this diagnosis, I would—in a heart beat—and I don’t understand why You will not. But, Lord, I trust that You are doing far more than I can ask or imagine, and I choose to sit back and look for how You are going to surprise us with your goodness again. Thank You once again that You are God and I am not.

I wish Bee didn’t have to go through this, but since she is: thank You for the people who are walking through it with us. Thank You for how the body of Christ has reflected Your image more clearly. Thank You for how Your Church acting as it should gives me hope for the redemption of the world.

Thank You that when I cry out, “Lord, have mercy!” I can remember that You’ve already told us You are rich in mercy, and no matter what things look like right now, Your character doesn’t change.

And that’s it.

It seems small.

Last night, our first night at the hospital for Bee’s insulin education, my tough daughter was reeling a little bit from her unexpected day. We made space for her to talk about the hard stuff, for her to tell us what she really didn’t like about being diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. And then we asked her if she could name one good thing from today.

She named three.

Choosing to find the things worth celebrating is a small but powerful way to fight back against the darkness. Choosing gratitude is us thumbing our nose at the darkness and saying, “You can’t get me!” It’s a little subversive, which can honestly be a little fun.

Ha, you thought you were getting me down today? Well, look at me saying thank you for the rain and a cup of hospital coffee and a partially frozen hummus-veggie wrap! Darkness, you have no power here!

So I say thank you. And I do it like its my job to creatively come up with more ways that God may just be showing His goodness to us.

Because I think that if I can learn how to carb count and do insulin math, I can also make a little effort to count the gifts. One at a time, listing the things, no matter how small, that remind me that this is not the end of the story, that there are beautiful things to see still if I allow the light to shine in the darkness.

We are not overcome. We know who wins…and who has already won. We know that none of this is a surprise for Him (even the fact that this is hard for us). And He is at work in this moment. He stays with us, no matter what.

To me, that’s worth saying thank you for. And because of that, it’s worth figuring out how to say thank you for the other stuff too…because all the other tiny thank you’s are ways I see that He hasn’t left me in this mess by myself, and He never will.

His light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it.

Neither will the diabetes, for the record.