Sitting in Gratitude
Last weekend, my husband and I attended our twentieth Behold the Lamb of God concert. It’s a tradition that stretches all the way back to the Christmas season when we got engaged; before kids, before careers unfolded, before grief and joy took turns reshaping our lives. Over the years, this concert has marked time for us in a way few things do.
For a long time, our drive home followed a familiar script. We’d replay the night, noticing who we missed, who surprised us, whether this year felt stronger or quieter than the last. Sometimes we’d name it “the best year yet.” Other times, we’d notice what felt off. We’ve gone just the two of us, with friends, with family, in seasons that felt full and in seasons that felt heavy.
This year was different.
Not because of the music. Not because of the lineup. Not because of anything that happened on the stage.
For the first time, I left without any sort of analysis. Instead, I noticed something else within me: gratitude. Simple. Undramatic. Steady.
I was grateful to be there. Grateful to sit in a room where familiar songs have become part of our own Christmas story. Grateful to be next to my husband and to remember how many versions of Christmas we’ve lived through together: newly engaged, exhausted parents of newborn twins, a quiet Christmas in quarantine, years shaped by loss and years marked by unexpected joy.
It has been a hard year for my family on several fronts. And maybe that’s what made the gratitude feel so clear. Not forced. Not performative. Just present.
To be able to simply sit, without fixing, without evaluating, without longing for something else, and say this is enough felt like a gift I didn’t know I needed.
As we move through this season, I find myself wondering:
Where are you able to sit in gratitude right now, without needing it to be perfect or complete?
And where does gratitude feel harder to access, thinner, or just out of reach?
Perhaps gratitude isn’t something we manufacture or summon on demand. Maybe it’s something we notice when we finally stop bracing ourselves and allow the moment to be what it is.
Sometimes, that noticing is the most honest gift we can receive.
