12/12/2025
Father,
It’s Wednesday, December 3, 2025, and I’m thanking You for the fact that I even know how to be grateful after everything that tried to take me out. I didn’t learn this kind of gratitude from perfect holidays and easy seasons. I learned it in loss, in empty rooms, in nights I wasn’t sure I’d see the morning. The thank You I’m bringing You today was built in fire.
Thank You for the moments that should have wrecked me for good but didn’t. For the nights I didn’t go back to what was killing me. For the mornings I got up when I honestly didn’t care if I woke up or not. For the doors that slammed and exposed who and what was never safe for me. Back then it felt like abandonment; only now can I start to see how much of it was You pulling me away from what would have destroyed me.
Thank You that losing so much stripped me down to the real me. Broken plans, ended relationships, collapsed idols—all of it forced me to stop performing and start healing. I don’t celebrate the damage, but I am grateful for who You’ve been building in the middle of it: someone who can stand here, scarred and still say, “I see Your fingerprints in the fact that I’m still alive.” My gratitude today is proof You were working when I swore You were gone.
For this day, help me lean into that kind of thankfulness right in the middle of what still aches. Guide my thoughts so I don’t rewrite my whole story as nothing but pain. Guard my mouth so I don’t curse seasons You used to keep me breathing. Steady my heart so I can hold the tension: I would never choose what happened, but I can still be grateful for what You’ve grown in me because of it.
Let my gratitude today be real, rough, and unpolished—not “everything is fine,” but “You never let go of me when everything else did.” And I am thanking You for that.
In Your Son’s name, Jesus Christ,
Amen.