Finding Grace at the Table: Navigating Differences This Thanksgiving

As an intense election transitions into Thanksgiving, the holiday dread of seeing “them” may feel more present than ever. At an adorned table, we do what Thanksgiving demands: we fake it, we smile, we avoid. We do not connect.

Like all therapists, we contain both a professional and a personal self. When in sessions, the professional eclipses the personal, though the personal by no means goes away entirely. We cannot rid ourselves of our personal life, just as none of us can not rid ourselves of our shadow.

A personal story: For nearly a decade, two people were very much at odds with one another. The relationship consisted of absolute misery with occasional bursts of light, which would inevitably dim and altogether end. It continued in a cycle– light, dimness, darkness– light, dimness, darkness– light, dimness, darkness. Darkness dominated these cycles, like an Alaskan winter sky.

That was, until one of them entered the ER for an unknown brain mass. After a straight decade of brawling, suddenly they were holding hands. It was altogether bizarre to witness. The mass ended up being stage 4 cancer, and the cancer was present for seven months. After seven months, one was left widowed.

Those seven months were better than the previous 10 years. It didn’t matter that they voted different, held different religious beliefs, or got on each other’s last nerve. In those seven months, they laughed, they cried, they held one another. And their only complaint in those seven months was that they wish they had set aside all the noise sooner.

The deceased’s favorite holiday was Thanksgiving.

I find myself in an interesting position, sitting across from people who consider “cutting someone out.” I hold the professional self– that validates, that considers, that challenges– alongside my personal self. That witnessed time wasted. The personal self that witnessed pure regret. This example does not make it into the session, but has found its way into this newsletter.

If life snowballed out of control tomorrow, would you find yourself with regret at time wasted? How do we move forward with our differences– even fundamental ones we find righteous– which honors the knowledge that time runs out?

There are, of course, always exceptions to any rule. Domestic violence and other abuse hover front of mind as a type, like a neon sign needing attention. Though, these are not often the examples I hear from people considering ending relationships. It is far more common that people I sit in session with want to end relationships over politics and religion. Systems that were meant to bring good into the world.

Making amends is tough work. It is also tough work to have relationships with people who refuse to “change.” It can all be true. It’s complicated. Of course, cutting people out is (seemingly) easier.

We can hate someone’s idea, without hating them. Just as we can love someone, without being in love with them. Or love a child, without wanting to adopt them. There is a line that exists– a life changing line. And so often, we let that line not exist. We skip over it, and only realize there was a line all along when it was too late. We hated them, when really we were just hurt.

Scripture is often used to help make a point, including as a way to manipulate an emotion. With me listing the following verse, I implore you not to immediately draw a conclusion for yourself out of guilt but to reflect and see if this may be applying to that relationship of yours that keeps coming to mind. If it sticks, maybe it’s one to fix.

Romans 12:17-18: “Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”

We can understandably ache for better relationships, and allow room to love (or minimally, have consideration for) one another in a life that upholds both boundaries for ourselves and grace for the other. A life that doesn’t need a shattering event to remember one another’s humanity.

This Thanksgiving, I hope your table is filled with seeing the heart of one another. Hearts that are fortunate to still beat, among all the noise.