Just as there are at least two kinds of people when it comes to packing (the all-at-once crowd and the slowly-gather crowd), there are at least two different ways to approach hosting Thanksgiving. Those who do one very organized run to the grocery store and those who take scores of smaller trips to the grocery store for days leading up Thursday. I find myself solidly in the latter group. I gather what we need bit by bit, as I am able to wrap my mind around each task or dish.

Apparently I fall into the same camp when it comes to gratitude. I have happily read the “I’m grateful for” lists my friends (and complete strangers) have been posting. I have wanted to have my gratitude ducks in order as much I have wanted to have my hosting ducks under control, but, alas, all my ducks are scattered.

After the turkey was in the oven but before all the other tasks on my hosting Thanksgiving to-do list, I sat in our front yard and spent a good thirty minutes confessing ingratitude and identifying its causes in my life. As strange as it sounds, this exercise in honest assessment and repentance made space for God-goaded gratitude. I know its en vogue to make gratitude lists, but here I am making a confession list. To each his own.

1. I confess thinking that what I have is mine. One downside of an economy which prizes private ownership is the false notion that anything I have (or am) belongs to me. It was His. It is His. It will be His. I am His. And this if for my good and His glory.
   “What do you have that you did not receive? If then you received it, why do you boast as if you did not receive it?” (1 Corinthians 4: 7).
2. I confess thinking that I have earned anything. I have always been hard-working and responsible. The downside of such realities is an insidious sense of entitlement and earning which suffocates true gratitude. Even when we obey, our obedience is a gift, empowered by the Spirit and enabled by the obedience of Christ.
   “So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.” (Luke 17:10).
3. I confess being more aware of what others have than of what I’ve been graciously given. If I am honest, I have not grown all that much from the little girl who used to be jealous at birthday parties as friends were opening gifts. I am quick to see all that others have and slow to see the bounty all around me. James saw the same tendencies in the early church and was not afraid to call it out and compel God’s people to better.
   “You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do have, because you do not ask” (James 4: 2).
4. I confess a lack of awe of the beauty in which our world is brined. As one who lives in an abundance of beauty, I grow accustomed to and bored with what should cause me to skip and sing as a little child. I love Rainer Maria Rilke’s statement, “There is much beauty here because there is much beauty everywhere.” The poverty is within me who can walk past the world of beauty created by the beautiful God and yawn.
   “Then Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, ‘Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.’ And he was afraid and said, ‘How awesome is this place!- (Genesis 28:16-17).
5. I confess wanting to be in control rather than controlled (by the love of Christ).
   When I get so obsessed with my small, superficial plans, I miss the expansive, supernatural story God is writing. When I wrongly think that my sense of security is tied to my “ability” to control, I miss out on the glorious adventure of a life marked by being controlled by the love of Christ. As such, I become rigid, unyielding, and unreceptive to the good gifts He offers because they don’t line up with my pathetic plans.
   “For the love of Christ controls us, because we have concluded this: that one has died for all, therefore all have died, and he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised” (2 Corinthians 5:14–15).

Do you want to know the best part of this seemingly strange Thanksgiving list? God already knew it and nailed it to the tree (Colossians 2: 13–15). God sees all the tendencies towards ingratitude in me, yet He doesn’t call me “ingrate,” He calls me His daughter.

Repentance leads to times of refreshing. Confessing ingratitude makes space for true gratitude. Also, the turkey is likely over-cooking as I write. Happy Thanksgiving to you, my often-ungrateful but always-loved friends.