Maybe you thought 2020 was a wash. If you did no one would blame you. The complexity of adversity seemed to reach a new level. So if you’re one of the many rushing toward Christmas with a sigh of exasperated finality—I totally get it. We too decorated for Christmas while still finishing off our Halloween candy.
It’s been weird this year. My family started the year off with a litany of scary surprises. My mom collapsed at dinner from an apparent seizure and had a concerning stay in the hospital. As we sat by her bed we watched international news as an unknown virus crept across the Earth on an inevitable path toward our shores.
As the world dashed behind locked doors; schools, churches, and businesses closed. My family felt the affects of all of this as we tried to find new footing. Just like you did. The whole planet called a timeout but the problems persisted—undaunted by—and perhaps even enflamed by the social and societal unrest of scared people. It was right in the midst of this we learned my brother had cancer and I was diagnosed with compassion fatigue. I didn’t even know that was a thing.
What’s scary is scary. What’s unknown is scary. Hard things mixed with uncertain things can be downright frightening. And even as the new normal slowly peeked out from behind our bubbles it seemed to get worse.
Our family circle was hit by a string of four deaths in one week. My wife’s cousin died on a Friday. My dad’s cousin died two days later. My dad’s friend died the next day. My dad’s brother passed three days later. The affects of the year had piled up in a big way that had seemed to topple with indiscriminate verocity.
But did life get worse? For some the answer is a resounding yes. Life did get worse. Did it get worse for me? No. It didn’t.
Did hard things happen this year? Yes. But hard things happen every year. Hard things happen every day. Because life is hard. And the greatest injustice of our day is often the lie we collectively accept that says life is supposed to be easy.
Here is what I know about you. Even though I don’t know you. You’re still here. You survived whatever level of difficulty loomed over your life for the last nine months. The shadows of which no doubt seemed hard beyond reckoning at times. But you’re still here. So am I.
I think in the midst of such uncertain difficulty each of us have been given a phenomenal gift. We have been given an opportunity for extreme clarity. Even as darkness seemed to win. As all things dastardly tried to close in; you and I have been given the chance to see what we love all the more.
Today, I feel closer to my wife than ever before. I love my kids more. I have more appreciation for the university where I teach. I love my church and the people who trust me to be their pastor. I am deeply grateful for the incredible friends I have. None of those are new things.
I have more to be thankful for than ever before. Maybe you do too. What if this year we have been given the gift of clarity? They say hindsight is twenty twenty. That in retrospection we see perfectly. For all of its bumps and bruises don’t miss the God-given gift of vision this year could represent.
Don’t pretend hard things didn’t happen. People who live with their head in the clouds are hard to stomach when the rubber meets the road. Instead, lean into the opportunity to see clearly. Don’t look at this year through rose-colored glasses. See it through your bumps and bruises. And be thankful for the good things you’re still surrounded by.
If one of those is someone you love, take them by their own bruised and busted knuckles. Speak with words of thankfulness. And walk into this season of thanksgiving with the renewed solidarity of extreme gratefulness.