If you are listening in real time, today is the day before Thanksgiving 2023. And let me just tell you, I am excited for this particular Thanksgiving. I mean, I always look forward to it—it’s one of my favorite holidays. But this year, Brad and I are not traveling. That’s right—we are staying put and loved ones are coming to us. Which means, this year, we get to host.

Believe it or not, this is my first time ever hosting Thanksgiving dinner. I am so excited to do super simple things like, set the table with the china we never really use. And of course, I’ve been thinking through the menu for weeks now.

We’ve ordered/outsourced the turkey {listen, I know we could probably pull it off and one of these years we’ll attempt it on our own, but I’m all about baby steps for now}. I do, however, plan to make several delicious family recipes for sides. I’ve spent some time paging through my recipe box, which is filled with cards containing ingredient lists, measurements, and directions, most written in my grandmother’s perfect penmanship. I can’t wait to spend time in the kitchen bringing these recipes to life.

As I was paging through those cards I was reminded of a core memory of mine, which involved a kitchen, and a recipe, and my grandmother. It was one of the first times I’d ever attempted to bake anything, and luckily, I was not doing it on my own. My grandmother invited me to help her make one of my favorites—a batch of good ‘ole chocolate chip cookies.

I quickly discovered this was definitely not going to be a break-n-bake situation; these cookies were absolutely going to be made from scratch, which was almost always my grandmother’s way. I was so excited to discover and mix all the delicious ingredients together. And of course, ultimately, I looked forward to devouring the finished product.

As we got started that day, my grandmother took out the recipe and when she called out the ingredients, it was my job to make sure we had each one ready to go. The initial ingredients she listed made sense to me. Sugar—check. Butter—check. Vanilla—check. Brown sugar—check.

But then she began to list ingredients that sounded pretty unappetizing all on their own: Flour? Baking powder and baking soda…didn’t even realize they were two different things, but okay? Raw eggs…what in the world? I reluctantly checked off each one, but was quietly questioning the legitimacy of the recipe. Obviously saving the best for last, my grandmother finally redeemed herself by reading off my favorite ingredient by far—lots and lots of chocolate chips. Perhaps all was not lost.

Still, this was strange; my little kid brain could not make it make sense. How could these ingredients I’d never choose to eat be part of something so delicious? With a knowing eye, my grandmother guided me along and together, we baked those cookies.

It was an experience I’ll never forget, and it is a wondering I still hold onto. While I’ve certainly grown in understanding since then, I find I still wrestle with a similar question. Not in the kitchen, of course, but in my actual life. In our actual lives. How can the things we’d never choose to experience or wish on anyone else be part of a fulfilling, abundant life?

It’s true that our lives hold so much goodness—connection, belonging, joy, wonder, celebration, peace, beauty, and kindness, just to name a few.

And it’s also true that our lives contain so much struggle—loss, tragedy, grief, loneliness, fear, violence, injustice, and disappointment. The list could go on.

I don’t know about you, but for me, it can be difficult to reconcile how both are inevitably part of the equation, how both the good and the heartbreaking experiences are ingredients included in the recipes that make up our lives. Surely there must be a way to eliminate what is less than ideal, to substitute certain ingredients with better, more palatable alternatives. Certainly there is an easier, turn-a-blind-eye, break-n-bake option, yes?

That would be nice. But I’m learning that a life made from scratch isn’t always ideal. Instead, it is real and raw and rich and nuanced and messy and beautiful. We rarely consume any part of it all on its own. Instead, each ingredient is whisked together with the rest into this mysterious combination—a combination that makes us who we are and connects us to one another. A combination that, it turns out, is our life.

So what might it look like to hold both the beauty and the pain? To trust and lean into a recipe that doesn’t always makes sense? A recipe we’d sometimes rather not follow?

Per usual, I don’t know that there is a clear answer, but in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I wonder if gratitude might be a good place to start.

In her book, Grateful, Diana Butler Bass explores a familiar verse from 1 Thessalonians 5. In verse 18, we read {in part},

“…give thanks in all circumstances.”

Diana points out that we often understand that verse to mean that we are called to be grateful for everything in our lives—the good, the bad, the tragic. But here is what we so often miss. Diana writes,

“When I watch the news and fear grips my heart about whatever comes next, when a friend is diagnosed with cancer, or when a loved one dies, that Bible verse, …the one I memorized as a teenager, calls toward a better way: “In everything give thanks.” It does not say…”For everything give thanks.” Gratitude never calls us to give thanks for anything that is evil or unjust, never for violence, lying, oppression, or suffering… The Greek word is en, which means, ‘in, with, within, throughout.’ …in happiness, in despair; …Gratefulness grounds our lives in the world and with others, always locating the gifts and grace that accompany our way…to know the mystery of life is to be grateful in all things. In all things, with all things, through all things.”

She continues,

“Gratitude is not a form of passive acceptance or complicity. Rather, it is the capacity to stare doubt, loss, chaos, and despair right in the eye and says, ‘I am still here.’ It is like the mantra of British theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking: ‘While there’s life, there is hope.’ Being alive is radical gratitude.”

“{And} gratitude is defiance of sorts, the defiance of kindness in the face of anger, of connection in the face of division, and of hope in the face of fear. Gratefulness does not acquiesce to evil—it resists {it}.”

I deeply resonate with what Diana shares here. She reminds us that there is plenty to be grateful for, but that the greater invitation is to be grateful in. Maybe we can be grateful because of, and also in spite of.

And maybe practicing gratitude isn’t about some secret ingredient that will make everything right. Instead, maybe practicing gratitude is a reminder that we are not alone in the kitchen. That we don’t have to follow the recipe all on our own. Our lives are being made in the presence of God, who guides us, comforts us, inspires us and loves us. Who is with us every step of the way.

Today, remember the recipe for a life made from scratch. And remember that you are never alone as you seek to follow along. May we come to know, as Diana Butler Bass offers, that “Being thankful is the very essence of what it means to be alive, and to know that life abundantly.” May we learn to choose gratitude in the middle of it all, as together, we continue to become the people God calls and invites us to be.