"Thanksgiving 2025"

Finding Thanksgiving in a Foreign Land: Living with Hope When Life Gets Hard

We live in a fallen world. It's not a comfortable truth, but it's one we must embrace if we're going to understand how to navigate life's hardest moments with genuine thanksgiving in our hearts.

The prophet Jeremiah penned one of Scripture's most powerful letters to people who had every reason to give up hope. The Israelites found themselves forcibly removed from their homeland, living as captives in Babylon—a foreign land with foreign customs, surrounded by people who didn't share their faith or values. They were displaced, discouraged, and desperate for answers.

Sound familiar?

The Danger of the "Why" Question

When life throws us curveballs—and it will—our first instinct is often to ask "Why?" Why did this happen to me? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why would God allow this suffering?

These questions aren't necessarily wrong, but they can become dangerous. When we fixate on finding explanations for every hardship, we risk becoming critics rather than believers. We end up in one of two unhelpful places: either we conclude that God is cruel for causing or allowing our pain, or we decide He's not truly in control—that somehow our circumstances caught Him off guard.

Neither conclusion honors the God of Scripture.

The truth is simpler, though not easier: we live in a world poisoned by sin. When humanity fell in the Garden of Eden, it was as though poison entered God's perfect creation. For thousands of years, that contamination has been spreading through mankind, through nature, through every corner of existence. Until God redeems all things and makes them new, we will face troubles, trials, and heartbreaking losses.

We don't live off explanations. We live off promises.

The Letter That Changed Everything

Jeremiah's letter to the exiles in Babylon contained a message that must have seemed shocking: "Build houses and live in them. Plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters. Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare."

Wait—what? They were supposed to settle in? Make a life in Babylon? These people had been torn from everything familiar, everything they loved. Surely the right response was to resist, to rebel, to hold their breath waiting for immediate rescue.

But God's instruction was clear: Don't just survive—live. Not because the captivity was good, but because He had plans that extended beyond their immediate circumstances.

Then came the promise that would echo through generations: "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope."

Seventy years. That's how long they would remain in Babylon. Most of the people receiving this letter would never see their homeland again. Yet God was asking them to trust, to build, to invest in life even in exile.

We Are Sheep Among Wolves

Jesus Himself told His disciples, "Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves." That's not exactly a comforting image, is it? Sheep are prey animals—vulnerable, defenseless, dependent on their shepherd for protection.

What makes us think life as followers of Christ should be easy and comfortable? We're living in occupied territory, in a world that often opposes everything we believe. We're foreigners here, pilgrims passing through on our way to a better country.

Yet here's the beautiful truth: Jesus prayed for us. Before His crucifixion, He lifted His eyes to heaven and spoke words over His disciples—and over all who would believe through their testimony. That includes you.

"I do not ask that you take them out of the world, but that you keep them from the evil one. Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth."

Jesus didn't pray that we'd be removed from difficulty. He prayed that we'd be protected, sanctified, and kept faithful in the midst of it. He prayed that we would have His joy fulfilled in us even while the world hates us for not belonging to it.

The Savior of the world, seated at the right hand of the Father, has spoken a word over you—and He will perform it.

Perspective Changes Everything

Sometimes we need our perspective adjusted to cultivate a truly thankful heart.

Consider the hunter who traveled to Illinois expecting to take down the trophy buck of a lifetime. He'd seen the photos, studied the patterns, positioned himself perfectly. But when the moment came—in the dim light of early morning—what he shot wasn't the massive buck he'd been pursuing. It was a small deer, barely legal, the kind that might be respectable back home but certainly not what you travel hundreds of miles to harvest.

His first response? Laughter. Then a call to his wife, who offered the wisdom he needed: "Just be thankful you got to go. You didn't come home empty-handed."

Perspective. It's everything.

We don't have to thank God for the cancer, for the loss, for the tragedy, for the diagnosis. But we can thank Him for the blessings that surround even our darkest valleys. Thank Him for the 32 years with a beloved parent. Thank Him for the compassionate nurse. Thank Him for the tire that could go flat, because it means we have a vehicle. Thank Him for the struggles that are sanctifying us, making us more like Christ.

Don't Stop Moving

Jeremiah didn't tell the exiles to "get over it" or "move on"—those phrases are often insensitive and dismissive of real pain. Instead, he told them to keep moving. To take the next step. To build, plant, marry, and pray.

When tragedy strikes, we may never fully "get over it." But we can move forward.

God's Word is like a hammer that breaks through our hardened hearts when we've given up. It's like a fire that cannot be contained. Eventually, if we're truly His, that Word stirs us back to action, back to hope, back to life.

The Promise of All Things New

One day—and this is the hope that sustains us—there will be no more sickness. No more cancer. No more surgeries, no more insulin pumps, no more tragedy. The word "death" will lose all meaning. God will make all things new.

We'll stand in the very presence of the Almighty, and every ounce of struggle, every moment of doubt, every tear we've cried will be worth it.

Until that day, we occupy. We build. We plant. We love. We serve. We trust that the God who loves us is performing His good word over us, even when we can't see it, even when it doesn't make sense.

This Thanksgiving, whatever your circumstances, know this: God's thoughts toward you are good. He has plans for your future. He is sanctifying you through every trial. And He will be found by those who seek Him with their whole heart.

We're just pilgrims passing through a foreign land. But we're not alone, and we're not without hope.

That's something worth being thankful for.