What Gratitude Looks Like When the System Fails

It’s hard to talk about gratitude right now without acknowledging the fear and confusion sitting at so many kitchen tables across the country.

Families are wondering how they’ll fill their refrigerators the next few months. People are doing mental math at the checkout line, hoping the job isn’t cut, that they’ll get a job, or that their benefits load in time. It’s tough when it’s questionable if you can provide what your family needs.

The system has slipped. And when it did, thousands of people, already stretched thin, were left hanging.

But then something else happened.

Everyday people rose.

State governments scrambled, stepping in where they could. Organizations and churches opened their doors wider, often without being asked. And then there are the stories I can’t shake... one person, one family, or a small group who decided they weren’t going to wait for someone else to fix it.

They started small “families helping families” often out of their homes and offices. No funding. No fanfare. Just heart. They rallied their communities, set up simple online lists, and began matching those who could give with those who needed help.

Boxes of food, diapers, and care started showing up on porches. Bags of groceries that provide healthy breakfasts, school lunches, and family dinners. Many are pitching in to help shop and deliver meals, learning that kindness doesn’t require wealth, only willingness. Others, who may not have time, are pitching in financially to pay for the groceries, the gas for deliveries, and the endless little needs that keep the whole thing running.

I’ve just moved to a town in Montana, and it’s happening here too. You can feel the pull toward goodness. Someone posts that they’re short on formula, and five replies appear within minutes. Farmers drop off boxes of produce or cartons of eggs at community centers. A local diner quietly starts offering free kids’ meals, no questions asked. The kindness is almost invisible if you’re not looking for it, but once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

Makes me grateful to be here, surrounded by so many helping hearts. And I imagine it’s happening all across our nation.

It’s not about being thankful that things are hard. It’s about being grateful that people show up anyway.  

• That we still have one another.

• That people still empathize with one another.

• That humanity is still alive and kicking.

When structures crumble, hearts still rise.

Maybe this is what we’re meant to experience and remember. 

That we don’t always get to control or have any say in the big systems. They may fail, sometimes spectacularly. But the spirit of community, that quiet instinct to help, isn’t going anywhere. It’s stitched into who we are.

Gratitude, these days, is quieter.

It’s not always written in journals or shared on social media; it’s often lived out in parking lots, food drives, and front doorsteps where families breathe a little easier because someone cared enough to not only notice, but to take action.

It’s still steady.

• It’s found in the ones who share what little they have.

• It’s in the volunteers who stay up late packing boxes.

• It’s in the donors who give anonymously, not for praise but because they want to help.

• It’s in the children who learn that helping others isn’t a special event, it’s part of being human.

And maybe that’s what real gratitude is anyway. Not the loud, polished version that shows up once a year around Thanksgiving, but the kind that threads itself through uncertainty and says, “We’re still here. We’ve still got each other.” This somehow supports me in feeling safe…and secure…even when challenging times hit hard. 

What we’re seeing right now, in all its quiet, unpolished beauty, helps to restore my faith in our humanness, in my city and state, and in this chaotic, messy, miraculous country we call home.

Love is ALL there is.

Diana