Lord Jesus, Thanksgiving is here, and today we are supposed to count our blessings.
We have blessings.
So many.
People we love.
Food on the table.
A home.
A marriage.
Family and friends.
Moments of laughter.
Prayers You have answered in ways we sometimes forget.
Your mercy.
Your Church.
Your Eucharistic presence.
Your love that has carried us through days we did not think we could endure.
We are grateful.
But Lord, there is still an empty place at our table.
And sometimes we do not know what to do with that.
Because gratitude and grief seem as though they should cancel one another.
If I am truly grateful, shouldn’t I stop wanting what I do not have?
If I trust You, shouldn’t I be content?
If I recognize my blessings, shouldn’t infertility or adoption waiting hurt less?
But Jesus, You know the human heart better than we do.
So teach us this truth:
Gratitude does not require us to stop longing.
We can say:
“Thank You.”
And:
“Please.”
in the same prayer.
Thank You for my spouse.
Please give us a child.
Thank You for our family.
Please add another little person to it.
Thank You for our home.
Please fill the room we prepared.
Thank You for the children we already love.
Please let us know the particular love of parenting a child entrusted to us.
Thank You for today.
Please change tomorrow.
Lord, Thanksgiving gatherings can make infertility especially visible.
Everyone gathers around one table.
Generations sit together.
Babies are passed from one set of arms to another.
Toddlers refuse the food everyone spent hours preparing.
Children run through the house.
Grandparents watch the chaos and smile.
Someone announces a pregnancy.
Someone brings a new baby for the first time.
Someone takes the family photograph and says:
“Everybody squeeze in.”
And suddenly we can see the shape of the family as it is.
And the place where we thought our child would be.
Lord, perhaps last Thanksgiving we thought:
By next year, surely.
Surely there will be a pregnancy.
Surely we will have a match.
Surely we will have a baby.
Surely there will be a high chair pulled up beside us.
And now another Thanksgiving has come.
We are still waiting.
Jesus, meet us in that disappointment.
If someone asks:
“Any news yet?”
give us grace.
If someone offers advice we did not request, give us patience.
If someone complains about pregnancy, sleepless nights, or children while we would give almost anything to experience those very inconveniences, guard our hearts.
Their exhaustion can be real even while our longing is real.
Help us not make suffering into a competition.
A tired mother is allowed to be tired.
A struggling father is allowed to struggle.
And we are allowed to ache.
There is room for everyone’s humanity at the table.
Lord, if we need to step into the bathroom and cry for a moment, meet us there.
If we need a quiet drive home afterward, come with us.
If we have a wonderful day and laugh until our sides hurt, let us enjoy it without guilt.
Infertility does not require sadness every minute.
Waiting does not mean life has stopped.
Teach us to receive joy whenever it comes.
And Lord, when everyone begins saying what they are thankful for, the moment may be unexpectedly hard.
We may have so much to say.
And yet part of us may want to say:
“I’m thankful—but I’m also heartbroken.”
You can receive both.
You do not need us to edit our hearts before bringing them to You.
So today we thank You honestly.
Thank You for the spouse beside us.
Thank You for the person who has walked through appointments, disappointments, paperwork, waiting, tears, and unanswered questions with us.
Thank You for a marriage that has survived things we never expected.
Protect it.
Help us look across the Thanksgiving table and remember:
Before there is a child, there is us.
And this marriage is already worthy of gratitude.
Thank You for the people who have supported us well.
For the person who remembered the difficult date.
For the friend who did not offer advice but listened.
For the family member who prayed.
For the priest who understood.
For the doctor who treated us with dignity.
For the person who asked how we were really doing.
For everyone who has carried a tiny piece of this cross with us:
Thank You.
Lord, we also thank You for our bodies, even when that is difficult.
Infertility can make us resent them.
We may see our bodies primarily through what they cannot do.
Help us remember everything they do each day.
These bodies allow us to embrace.
Work.
Serve.
Laugh.
Pray.
Receive the Eucharist.
Hold hands.
Care for others.
Love.
Where there is illness or dysfunction, bring healing.
But do not let a diagnosis erase gratitude for the whole person.
And Lord, if conception is possible, we ask again today:
Please give us a child.
Perhaps next Thanksgiving there could be another chair.
Perhaps a baby will be asleep against someone’s chest while dinner gets cold.
Perhaps there will be a bottle beside the cranberry sauce.
Perhaps we will take turns eating because the baby refuses to be put down.
Perhaps everyone will complain lovingly about how Thanksgiving dinner used to be quieter.
Lord, we would welcome that chaos.
If it is Your will, please let it come.
And if adoption is our road, guide it with tenderness and justice.
Today there may be a woman carrying a child while facing circumstances so difficult that she cannot imagine what comes next.
Bless her.
Do not reduce her to the answer to our prayer.
She is Your daughter.
She has her own life, fears, relationships, hopes, and dignity.
Give her support.
Give the child’s father courage and responsibility.
If they can safely parent and desire to do so, surround them with what they need.
If adoption is freely chosen, guide everyone involved.
And if someday their child’s story becomes joined to ours, make gratitude humble.
Never let us say that another family’s pain happened for us.
Instead let us say:
God entrusted us to one another, and we will spend our lives honoring that trust.
Lord, bless foster children this Thanksgiving.
Some may be sitting at unfamiliar tables.
Some may be missing their parents.
Some may not know where they will celebrate Christmas.
Some may be surrounded by kind people and still desperately want home.
Protect them.
Bless foster parents.
Bless kinship caregivers.
Bless birth families working toward reunification.
And let every decision be made for the true good of the child.
Lord, bless those grieving babies and children today.
There may be an empty chair for a completely different reason.
A child once sat there.
A baby was expected.
A pregnancy ended.
A little person who should be in the family photograph is gone.
Stay particularly close to those families.
Do not ask them to be grateful for the death.
Instead help them find things to be grateful for within grief:
The child’s life.
The love.
The memories.
The people who remain.
The promise of resurrection.
Mary, you sang the Magnificat while carrying Jesus.
Teach us gratitude that does not deny difficulty.
You praised God while your future still contained enormous uncertainty.
Our Lady of Guadalupe, cover every family longing for a child.
St. Joseph, teach us the gratitude of Nazareth—the gratitude found in bread earned by work, a table shared, a home protected, and ordinary life offered to God.
Blessed Fulton Sheen, teach us to bring both thanksgiving and petition before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament.
And Jesus, You Yourself gave thanks before giving Yourself.
At every Mass, the Eucharist draws us into thanksgiving.
So today we place everything upon the altar:
What we have.
What we have lost.
What we still desire.
What we understand.
What we do not.
And the child for whom we continue to pray.
Lord, if someday that child sits at our Thanksgiving table, help us tell the story gently:
We prayed for you.
We waited for you.
We loved you before we knew how our lives would meet.
But until that day, keep us from postponing gratitude.
There is goodness here.
There is love here.
There is life here.
There is grace here.
There is You.
And You are not a consolation prize for the child we want.
You are God.
The deepest desire of every human heart.
Teach us to desire You above every gift while still trusting that we may ask our Father boldly for the gifts we long to receive.
So today we say both prayers.
With one breath:
Thank You, Lord.
And with the next:
Please, Lord.
Thank You for the family we have.
Please bless the family we hope for.
Thank You for this table.
Please someday add a little chair.
Thank You for this marriage.
Please, if it is Your will, entrust a child to our love.
Thank You for carrying us this far.
Please carry us through however much waiting remains.
And when we bow our heads before Thanksgiving dinner, let our prayer be simple:
For what has been, thank You.
For what is, stay with us.
For what may come, we trust You.
And for the child for whom our hearts still ache, Lord, we ask once more: please remember our prayer.
Always remember Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Holy Family! Help us to be a holy family and pray for us!
Amen.