MARYBETH MCGEE | GUEST
Recently, my own words echoed in my head: “Our joy is not found in the trials, but in Him.” Those words—from an article I wrote here last Advent—were suddenly tested in a trial unlike any we weathered before.
On May 22, 2025, our home erupted in chaos on the first morning of summer break. My middle son and I discovered that my oldest son had passed away—unexpectedly, quietly, without any warning. At just fourteen, he was gone, and there was nothing we could do. Years of waiting and praying for this child—and his brothers—felt ripped away in an instant. Powerless. Crushed. Broken.
Even as I spoke with emergency services, I felt the battle for my soul begin. Shock, fear, anger, and a grief beyond words swirled inside me as I heard the familiar whisper echo from Genesis 3: “Did God really say?” Peter’s words became more real than ever—there truly is an enemy who prowls like a lion, seeking to devour (1 Peter 5:8). I knew this would be a test of my faith. Our family was being called to the front lines of spiritual warfare, and we needed reinforcements.
My second call, just minutes later, was to my pastor. Like any good shepherd, he rushed to our home and stepped straight into the chaos. My husband was an hour away at work; our house filled with firefighters, paramedics, and sheriffs—faces my children had rarely seen outside of children’s shows, let alone in our front yard. Over the next several days and weeks, our home was a constant flow of people, tears, laughter, joy, and deep mourning. The circumstances were devastating, but something different was happening.
Trials, both great and small, tend to stir up thoughts about gratitude—or the lack thereof. We can’t talk about gratitude without acknowledging the tension between our expectations and our circumstances. If anyone ever had an excuse to skip gratitude during a trial, the loss of a child would seem like a good one. But do we really get a pass because life feels unbearable? As you might guess, my answer is no.
Looking in the Wrong Place
Looking to our circumstances and expecting them to produce gratitude is one of our greatest mistakes. Our situations are for the most part a neutral party. Asking them to generate thankfulness is like asking a fish to fly to Phoenix. Circumstances alone, without our response, simply remain what they are.
When gratitude feels impossible, the problem runs deeper than unmet expectations. We like to blame grief, anger, or loneliness—and yes, those emotions are real, their presence is often well beyond our control. But they aren’t the true root of ingratitude, and their absence doesn’t automatically make for a grateful heart.
So, what is the root of ingratitude? Buckle up, friend, it’s good old-fashioned unbelief. We desire something, our expectations mingle with that desire, and when they go unmet, disappointment creeps in. We start to believe that God cannot—or will not—satisfy us. When our circumstances don’t align with our idea of “good,” we become blind to the goodness still around us. Ingratitude can gain a foothold in the battle for our hearts.
Peace doesn’t come from deciding our circumstances are good; it comes from looking to the Giver of every good gift (James 1:17). The real question is: are we prepared for the battle and for an enemy who wants to shift our gaze elsewhere? The trials will come. When the weight of grief is crushing, an arbitrary list of “25 things I’m grateful for” won’t overcome the depth of our sorrow. We must seek a deeper comfort.
Filling a Deep Well
Peter not only warns us of the spiritual battle swirling around us and the need to stay alert to the enemy’s schemes; he also gives us tools to cultivate deep, abiding gratitude, even in the midst of hardship. He reminds us to fix our eyes on things to come.
This isn’t a “stick your head in the sand and wait for it to be over” kind of posture. It’s the overflow of already knowing where our security, comfort, joy, companionship, and hope truly come from. If you feel like you have nothing left in you to be grateful for in your current circumstances, good! You won’t find it unless you look to the God who gives and takes away (Job 1:21).
Job faced some of the most crushing circumstances imaginable, yet he still blessed the name of the Lord. How can that be? No one would expect us to lose all that Job lost and be grateful for anything. It defies human nature. When calamity hits, we ask questions like, “Where is God in this?” or “Are you mad at God because He took your son?” Those questions were asked frequently in the days that followed our son’s death, and they were difficult to face.
But one message from a friend the night of our son’s funeral pulled it all together. She reminded me that I had been filling a deep well to draw from in this tragedy—by faithfully learning and loving God’s Word. “Praise God for this,” she wrote.
I wrestled with the thought of feeling joy on the day of my son’s funeral. Yet I was so filled with gratitude, there wasn’t much room for sadness. I was grateful that so many people showed up to a young boy’s funeral and worshiped God together. Grateful that my son would never know the pain of feeling “different” because of his developmental delays. Grateful that he now knows more about Jesus than all of us combined.
Most of all, I was grateful that the God who takes away is also the God who gives—peace, comfort, joy, love, all of which cause us to be grateful to the one who gave His life that we may feel His peace that passes all understanding in every circumstance. Praise God for this.
Photo by Raisa Milova on Unsplash
