Finding Gratitude Between The Groans

I took a field trip to the ER the other day. 

Not the kind where you pack a sack lunch, ride the bus with your friends, and get a gold  star for participation. This was the kind where you wake up at 6 a.m. with back pain so  sharp you’re convinced a professional boxer is punching your kidney—and he’s not  fighting fair. 

And the moment I felt it, I knew what it was. 

The kidney stone that had been peacefully hibernating decided to wake up early. And  Mama Bear was not happy. 

The Field Trip from Hades 

I tried to fight it off at home for two hours. I took the leftover meds from the last time— might as well have been a Flintstones vitamin. The pain migrated from my back to my  front like my organs had entered a demolition derby. I paced, sweated, and prayed for  

either healing or a swift end. By the time I reached the ER, I looked like a man  auditioning for a zombie movie—pale, limping, and clutching my stylish green puke bowl  like it was my emotional support animal. 

The nurse took one look and said, “Oh, you poor thing. My daughter had one. She said  she’d rather give birth three times in one year than pass another kidney stone.” She  gave me the look mothers give toddlers who try to cut their own hair—half pity, half  amusement. I’m pretty sure she was secretly pleased a man was finally learning what  real pain felt like. 

The Fast & the Furious: Kidney Drift 

Usually, a kidney stone takes its sweet time—days, sometimes weeks. Mine went full  Fast & Furious: Kidney Drift. By the time they did a CT scan, the stone had already  landed in my bladder. Three hours. From the kidney to Lake Michigan in record time. 

“The good news,” the doctor said, “is the stone’s about to exit. The bad news—you’ve  got another one waiting.” Apparently, my body is a full-time content creator for pain. It’s  almost poetic: my kidney creates the problem, then my kidney complains about the  situation. When Jesus said, “Let the one without sin cast the first stone,” my kidney  must think it’s a saint—because it’s been lobbing gravel like it’s trying out for the  Pharisee varsity team.

Worship and Words I Can’t Repeat 

I did try to worship. It lasted about thirty seconds. “How Great Thou Art” kept getting  interrupted by “How Great This Hurts.” I tried to raise my hands in surrender, but they  quickly returned to clutching my back and side. My brain unhelpfully supplied a list of  vocabulary words not fit for Sunday morning. It was three hours of lament sprinkled with  confessions of worship. 

I think of it like two radio stations inside me. One broadcasts my shadow side—fear,  pride, insecurity. The other plays my spiritual side—faith, peace, love. They’re both  always on, and I control the volume. Every day is a battle over the dial—learning to turn  down the noise of the shadow so I can hear the quiet, steady voice of God. Sometimes  the most honest worship sounds less like a hymn and more like a groan. 

When Gratitude Hurts 

Here’s what I’ve learned: gratitude isn’t the absence of pain; it’s the presence of  perspective. It doesn’t deny what hurts; it discovers what’s still good in the middle of it. 

It’s easy to be grateful for: 

• Stretchy pants 

• Indoor plumbing 

• Opposable thumbs 

• Deodorant 

• Finding a perfectly ripe avocado 

• The satisfaction of peeling the protective film off a new device 

But we can also learn to be grateful in the seasons that bring us pain. 

When Paul wrote, “Give thanks in all circumstances” (1 Thessalonians 5:18), he did not  mean, “Pretend your chains are comfy.” He suggested: even here, God is doing  something worth thanking Him for. Some of the letters that have discipled millions were  penned from prison—Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, Philemon, 2 Timothy. Paul  and Silas worshiped at midnight in a Philippian jail after a severe beating (Acts 16). The  prison doors opened, but notice—worship began before the miracle. 

Some of our best worship comes when we least feel like it. And that’s hard, especially  when pain is at a ten and you’re begging the nurse to skip the questionnaire and go  straight to the morphine. Gratitude in pain is like trying to see stars through city lights—

there, but it takes focus. I want to grow into the kind of person who can worship in pain,  not just after it, when hindsight makes faith easier. 

The Quiet Miracles We Miss 

When the pain eased and I got home, I started noticing small things I’d overlooked: • A wife who prayed for me 

• A doctor who knew what to do 

• Medicine that eventually worked 

• Friends who checked in 

• The absurd humor of it all—because laughter is its own kind of grace 

Pain tends to shrink our world. Gratitude helps us see the big picture again. I think it’s  one reason we’re encouraged to magnify the Lord. When we give thanks, it’s like  stepping back to see the entire map. We can finally notice how the detours we hated  were actually routes God used to lead us where we needed to go. 

God’s Kind of Gratitude 

Biblical gratitude isn’t shallow or sentimental. It’s gritty. It’s forged in fire and hospitals  and waiting rooms. 

• Jesus gave thanks before breaking bread the night before His suffering (Luke  22:19). 

• Jonah gave thanks from the belly of a fish (Jonah 2). 

• Paul and Silas sang with fresh bruises (Acts 16). 

• David worshiped in caves while hiding from Saul (Psalms 57, 142). 

They weren’t thanking God for pain; they were thanking Him through it. That kind of  gratitude changes you. It outlasts kidney stones, heartbreak, and disappointment. It  says, “God, even when my body, my plans, or my timeline betray me, You are still  good.”

What Gratitude Does 

While many of us believe grateful people live more fulfilled lives, fewer of us practice  gratitude regularly. Even on Thanksgiving—a day set aside for gratefulness—plenty of  folks would rather do anything else than reflect on what they’re thankful for. As Melanie  White quipped, “Thanksgiving is a time to count your blessings, one by one, as each  relative walks out your door.” 

The reality is that complaining is draining. Gratitude recharges the batteries. It doesn’t  make the pain smaller; it makes the goodness bigger. It shifts our focus from what’s  missing to what’s present, giving us strength to endure hard things. 

The Stone and the Story 

When it finally ended, I thought about that renegade pebble and all the mayhem it  caused. Three hours felt like forever. Then my mind went to Jesus. Mark tells us He was  crucified about the third hour and died at the ninth—roughly 9:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m.  (Mark 15:25, 33–37). Six hours. My jagged, ugly, smaller-than-an-eraser kidney stone  doesn’t even register beside the suffering He willingly carried for me. 

And that’s where gratitude sneaked in. That tiny fragment of pain gave me new reasons  to say “thank You”: I was grateful for healing (eventually), thankful for humor (even the  ER kind with a green bowl), and grateful for the grace that holds steady when my body  doesn’t. Thankful for a Savior who left the safety of heaven and stayed on a cross  longer than I lasted in a hospital bed, so I could have a life that never ends. Grateful for  a God who refuses to waste pain—not even the kind that makes you want to run away  from your own body. If He can redeem a cross, He can redeem a kidney stone—and the  story that came with it. 

A Simple Practice for the Next Hard Day 

When the dial in your heart starts amplifying the shadow station, try these three steps to  turn up the spiritual station: 

1. Name the pain (lament): “Lord, this hurts.” The Psalms permit us to offer God  unedited prayers. 

2. Name the good (gratitude): “Thank You that You promise to work all things for  the good of those who love You and are called according to Your purpose—even  this pain.” 

3. Name the next step (faith): “Help me take the next faithful step.”

Final Thought 

I would never ask to endure a kidney stone. But I am grateful that God never wastes  pain. Just as He brings life and light out of the cross, He can bring life and light out of  our darkest moments—even the ones that send us to the ER with a green bowl. And I’m  grateful for that.