A Letter on Gratitude Across the Miles
My Dearest Friend,
There are seasons in this life when miles stretch longer than we’d like—deployments, TDYs, or even the ordinary separations of being scattered far from the people who know us best. In those seasons, I’ve learned that gratitude behaves like a seed: small, intentional, sometimes planted in rocky ground. At first you may wonder if it will grow at all. But with time, with tending, those seeds sink roots deep enough to hold you steady, even when storms come. And like the old story of the Three Sisters—corn, beans, and squash—gratitude, community, and love grow strongest when they are planted side by side, each sustaining the others.
The Roots That Hold Us
I have felt gratitude take root in so many places. For my sister, who opened her home during my first deployment so I wouldn’t spend those early months of motherhood alone. For my parents, who traveled long distances to help when my second child was born. For friends who organized meal trains and found ways to make sure my family was cared for, even when our usual support system felt stretched thin, nourishing my family in a season when I was recovering and caring for a newborn while still meeting the needs of my older child.
I have felt it across oceans—friends who were far away, yet answered late-night phone calls, shared in joys and sorrows from a distance, and stayed present in the quiet hours when I needed someone most. I have felt it in my marriage—Beloved calling across time zones while I grew heavier with pregnancy, his voice a reminder that even across the miles, love can be present.
And I have felt it nearby—in friends who dropped everything to sit with me at a “crappy dinner party,” folding laundry while we talked, no sparkle or pretense, just presence. Each of these became roots, stretching beneath the surface, unseen but unshakable, keeping me upright when everything else felt uncertain.
Gathering at the Table
Late November always reminds me of that truth. I think of long tables pieced together from whatever we had, of mismatched chairs, and food carried in from many kitchens. I think of crowded living rooms where new friends became family. I think of the simple act of gathering, not with everyone we wish could be there, but with those who are. Around those tables, gratitude, community, and love are woven together in ways that nourish us more deeply than any single dish could.
The Lesson
Distance has taught me that gratitude is not automatic. When you live close to family, connection comes easy; you can almost take it for granted. But when you live far away, you see the effort it takes—the intentional phone calls, the text at just the right time, the willingness to step in when no one else can. Separation has taught me that gratitude is both hindsight and habit: you look back and realize what sustained you, and then you learn to look for it in the present, planting seeds even when you’re not sure how they’ll grow.
It has also taught me to be grateful for the parts of myself I discovered in the distance. I learned that I am not defined by who stands beside me. I choose my husband every day, but I no longer need him to complete me. That shift—away from dependence and into choice—was born of separation, and it is one of the deepest gifts I carry.
To the Spouse Cultivating Gratitude
If you find yourself in that weary place, where crisis feels endless and the beauty of this life has grown dim, I want to tell you: you are not alone. Gratitude may feel impossible, even false, when the weight is heavy. But even forced gratitude is worth planting. Fake it till you make it is not a lie—it is one way roots will grow. You may start by naming one small thing a day, even if it feels hollow at first. With time, you will find it becomes habit, and then truth.
This life is both brutal and beautiful. I will never pretend otherwise. But when I stop and look at the harvest—the friendships, the resilience, the opportunities—I know I would choose it all over again. And so may you, if you pause long enough to notice the roots already holding you steady, strengthened by the quiet companionship of gratitude, community, and love growing together.
