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Thanking God When Life Falls Apart
The Strange Strength of Supernatural Gratitude
Alright, let’s start thinking about Thanksgiving!
Now, most folks know good manners when they see them… politeness, kindness, patience, the usual Sunday-school virtues. And honestly, plenty of people outside the church pull them off like pros. That’s part of why critics jab Christians with the old accusation: “You don’t act any different than anyone else.” If you squint hard enough, maybe it even looks true.
But listen closely. Scripture says there are certain marks of genuine, God-breathed faith… things you can’t fake, cannot manufacture, and cannot use AI or Photoshop into your personality. These benchmarks of the faith show up not when life is easy, but when life takes a two-by-four to your ribs. And one of the brightest, strangest, most unmistakable marks is something that feels about as natural as thanking the dentist during the middle of a root canal.
My mentor, Greg Bahnsen, called it Unnatural Thanksgiving.
When Everyday Gratitude Just Won’t Cut It
David gives thanks in the wilderness, singing praise and trusting God’s goodness even as adversity presses in on every side. His gratitude turns the rocky desert into a sanctuary, echoing the hymn, “It is well with my soul.”
Here’s the easy stuff: natural gratitude. That’s the kind of thankfulness you feel when someone hands you a warm plate of food or lets you borrow their truck. No one needs a theology degree for that. Even the hardest cynic on your street can feel thankful when the good stuff rolls in.
And when Thanksgiving comes around… carved turkey, pumpkin pie, and family stories that probably should’ve stayed buried… we thank God for blessings like health, work, freedom, and full tables. That’s good. Scripture says it’s a sin not to do that. Romans 1 calls out the whole unbelieving world for refusing to give thanks.
But here’s the point most people miss: thanking God for the sweet stuff is expected. It requires almost zero spiritual horsepower. Anyone can do it. Natural gratitude doesn’t prove the presence of faith any more than a man smiling proves he’s in love.
Supernatural faith shows itself somewhere else entirely… in the raw, stripped-down moments when gratitude makes absolutely no sense.
That is where “Unnatural Thanksgiving” burns bright.
Thanksgiving in the Middle of a Train Wreck
Step for a moment into the emotional rubble we’d all rather avoid. A child’s funeral. A marriage on life support. Someone you love moves away. A job gone overnight. A doctor’s report that punches the wind right out of you. The silent treatment from family or friends you once trusted. A bank account that looks like a desert.
Now imagine whispering, “Thank You, Lord,” while the wreckage is still smoking.
That’s pretty darn unnatural. In fact, that’s impossible to do on your own. But that’s exactly what Scripture calls us to.
Look at David in Psalm 13. He’s hiding in desert caves with a jealous king gunning for him. His prayer opens like a drowning man going down for the last time: “How long, Lord? Will You forget me forever?” His heart is full of sorrow. It’s the end, right? Well, maybe. Maybe not.
David felt abandoned by God and hunted by man.
But just a few verses later… the ink barely dry… David pivots. “But I trust in Your unfailing love… I will sing to the Lord, for He has been good to me.”
Nothing changed. Saul’s still after him. The caves are still cold. The danger is still hot. But David sings anyway.
You want to talk about proof of faith? There it is. A diamond glinting in the dirt.
David’s Desert Song: A Psalm Sung With a Knife at His Back
Why can David praise when life is gutting him? Because he knows his suffering isn’t some cosmic accident. He understands that his pain is intertwined with God’s purposes. To David, even heartbreak belongs to the Lord… and once he sees that, the complaint turns into a hymn.
Biblical critics continue to say one person couldn’t write these wild emotional swings in the Psalms… the grief, the joy, the terror, the triumph. But any believer who’s walked with God for more than five minutes knows exactly why they swing: because faith has a context and lives in tension. Gratitude and grief can sit on the same bench.
A believer can sing with chains on.
And if you want the most dramatic example, look at Jesus Himself. Hours before His crucifixion, He took the cup representing His own blood… and gave thanks. Imagine staring death in the face and saying, “Father, thank You.”
That’s not human reasoning or Aristotelian logic. That’s heaven’s logic breaking into earth.
Paul’s Jailhouse Secret to Peace That Makes No Sense
Fast-forward to Paul, shackled in a Roman prison cell. The man writes like someone whose joy has been dipped in rocket fuel. “Rejoice in the Lord always. I’ll say it again—rejoice.” No loopholes. No fine print.
Paul doesn’t say, “Rejoice unless your marriage is falling apart… unless your kid is sick… unless you just lost everything.” He says always.
Then he adds the line that crashes through every excuse: “In everything… with thanksgiving… present your requests to God.”
“With thanksgiving” is the part that hits like a hammer. Anyone can cry out for help. Only a man or woman anchored to Christ can thank God for the very circumstance that’s driving him or her to their knees.
And what happens when we do that? Paul says we get “the peace of God that surpasses all understanding.” That’s not the peace of a beach vacation. That’s the peace of a man who knows his Redeemer rules even the dungeon.
It’s the kind of peace that lets you sing with shackles on your ankles.
Why God Turns Up the Heat: Refining, Not Ruining
Let’s be honest. The question always comes: “Why does God even let the hard stuff happen? Why doesn’t He just clear the path?”
Scripture gives three brutal, beautiful answers.
First, trials teach you to boast in weakness. Paul says, “If I’m going to brag, I’ll brag about what makes me look weak.” Only a man who’s had God show up in the darkness talks like that. God told him, “My power is made perfect in weakness.” Paul practically throws his hands up and says, “Fine. Then give me weakness. Give me hardship. Because when I’m weak, I’m strong.”
That’s not today’s self-help B.S. That’s surrender turning into strength.
Second, Peter says trials refine faith like fire purifies gold. Nobody trusts God deeply until the heat is on. Gold glows brightest in the furnace.
Third, James says trials make us mature, complete, and steady. The person who never suffers might be comfortable, but he’ll be shallow. Hardship carves depth into the soul. It builds perseverance, and perseverance builds backbone.
Trials aren’t roadblocks. They’re training grounds.
Training Your Heart for Impossible Gratitude
So how does anyone actually practice this? How do you say “Thank You” with tears in your eyes?
Greg Bahnsen’s “three C’s” make it plain:
Commit yourself to God’s cause. When you align your story with His, even the pain gets purpose.
Consider the character of your Lord. He’s wise. He’s tender. He’s in control. And the cross proves that love and suffering can occupy the exact moment.
Condition your seeing and speaking. Train your eyes to remember God’s past rescues. Train your tongue to speak gratitude aloud. Sing when you’d rather sulk. Praise when you’d rather pout. Thanksgiving grows through use, the way a blacksmith builds strength by swinging the hammer morning after morning.
A Hymn Written on the Waves of Grief
Horatio Spafford understood “Unnatural Thanksgiving” better than most. His four daughters drowned when their ship went down. His wife survived and sent a two-word telegram: “Saved alone.”
When Spafford crossed the Atlantic to meet her, the captain pointed to the stretch of sea where the girls were lost. In that moment… surrounded by black water and grief heavy as iron—Spafford wrote:
“When sorrows like sea billows roll…
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well with my soul.”
That’s not human courage. That’s resurrection courage leaking into a broken man’s heart.
The Strange Freedom You Find in the Fire
Unnatural Thanksgiving isn’t optimism. It isn’t pretending. It isn’t some stoic, stiff-upper-lip. It is resurrection living before resurrection morning. It is the quiet, stubborn, diamond-hard confidence that God is good even when everything around is not.
The world can fake courtesy. It can fake cheerfulness. It can fake good vibes and positive energy. But it cannot fake gratitude in the face of suffering. That kind of thankfulness is forged on holy ground.
When unbelievers face sorrow, grief is all they have.
When believers face sorrow, grief doesn’t get the final word.
Gratitude cracks the door to glory.
The same fire that melts wax hardens clay. The difference lies in the substance.
The One Command That Costs You Everything — And Gives You More
So the next time your plans explode, your prayers seem unanswered, your heart feels bruised… pause. Don’t let the first words out of your mouth be grumbling. Look up instead. Remember David’s desert song. Remember Paul’s chains. Remember Jesus’ thanks with the cross casting its long shadow over the table.
And remember the command that’s simple, brutal, beautiful, and world-shaking:
Give thanks in all things.
It won’t feel natural.
It never will.
But “Unnatural Thanksgiving” comes from a heart anchored in eternity… a heart held by a God who turns graves into gardens, tears into testimonies, and darkness into dawn.
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