Christmas…
It’s always been my favorite time of the year.
When my parents were blessed with their house, one of my
childhood dreams was fulfilled: A fireplace! With the fireplace crackling, and
the snow falling outside of the picture window, every Christmas imagination I’d
ever had, came true…We had an enormous Christmas tree full of sparkling things,
and the world was absolutely perfect.
Christmas with my family is a gift from God.
I remember the first Christmas after Hannah died; as much as
it hurts me to think about those memories, it serves to put Christmas in the
light it’s meant to be seen through.
Jesus, the Son of Man…the Man Who wept at Lazarus’ grave…
His arms were around me that day, and I know He cried, too…
I cried myself to sleep that day, as my family helplessly
stood by…
So many tears were shed in that first…second…third year…
I spent as many nights as possible in our family room, just
staring at the fireplace, wishing I were anywhere but in the life that I
had.
David and I had nothing left…
Of course, we had a family that loved us; we had a roof over
our heads, and I had a job. The lights stayed on, the cars stayed running, and
life carried on
With a huge, missing chunk and an ugly hole in our hearts…
Time keeps ticking, though, and the years have gone by. I’ve never forgotten that Christmas,
though-the Christmas where the grief was so tangible, where the feeling of
being abandoned, but of being held, was so strong…It’s very easy for me to go
back to that place, and to remember that intensity.
If I could go back to that grieving mother…to that grieving
family…and say anything
I don’t think I would.
We were all shaped that Christmas; we were all molded. From
the grandmother that felt as if she were watching her children in a burning
building of pain; to the mother that felt like her heart had been ripped out; to
the father who didn’t know how to handle his wife or his own grief, and only
knew to be strong arms; to the sister who saw it all spin helplessly out of
control; to the grandfather who had let down his walls to fall in love with a
tiny baby, only to see her fly away…
We were all molded and shaped.
We’re all missing that little puzzle piece.
The greatest gift, and the worst gift, I received that
Christmas was a pair of earrings that said “#1 Mom.” I literally buried them in
my jewelry box.
I wore them on Mother’s Day this year for what I believe is
the first time.
Why would I bring this up?
Just as the snow is falling; just as the trees are being
lit?
Why would I reintroduce such a sad memory?
Because it’s with me every Christmas.
Not a Christmas will go by that I don’t appreciate.
Not a Christmas will go by that I don’t compare to the most
heartbreaking Christmas of my life;
Every time I do, I will rejoice and be thankful that those
are days I never have to go through, again.
Every time I think about the Worst Christmas, I will
celebrate The Best Christmases of My Life…which is pretty much every one I’ll
have from this point, on.
I reminded my mom of my Best Christmas Ever: I was
incredibly sick; I’d been sick in my bedroom, and I was miserable. I came down
our stairs to find an enormous Sylvester, and a full set of furniture for my
dolls. I grabbed Sylvester (and Tweety, naturally); curled up on the couch, and
went to sleep.
The site of those amazing toys made me so happy; I still
remember the intensity of that emotion, even though it had to be almost 30
years ago. I can jump right back into
that memory, and it still makes me smile….
Because of the hardest Christmas ever, I am afraid to hope
for this Christmas. I’m afraid that once I verbalize my dream, it will be
snatched away. It’s a struggle I’ve had since before Bug was born. Although I’ve
not held back any emotion or love from him, it’s made me not want to verbalize
my hopes and dreams for certain things. It’s also made me stomp my foot, stand
my ground, and make myself say it anyways. I don’t know how long he has; I don’t
know how long I have. I’m increasingly aware that we’re all on a countdown, and
God alone knows when it stops. Rather than hide under the fear that keeps us
from declaring and from going forward, I’d rather set my face and take my
chances…even when I’m scared to death to put my heart out there.
I want to embrace the excitement.
What does he think of this season? I want to see it how he
sees it…He laughs as we drive home in the dark, when we pass the houses with
all of their lights. He’s fascinated by the sequined tree skirt, by how it
catches the light. He wants to touch everything, to feel the textures…and of
course, he wants to put EVERYTHING in his mouth.
He’s incredibly active, crawling, touching, standing,
picking up, reaching, smacking, slobbering, and the sweetest of all—he’s
hugging. The days when I pick him up at the babysitter’s are when it hits me
the most, how much he’s grown: He crawls toward me with a big smile, clapping
to see my face. This week, he grabbed my ears and pulled my face close to his,
so he could bite my nose.
It’s the most beautiful moment of my day.
How could I hold back?
How could I let fear stop me from embracing these moments?
From hoping for a future?
From believing for His plan, for His hope, for His destiny
for me? For my child?
How could I let the fear and pain of Christmases past, cloud
any of the joy in Christmas today?
I can’t.
I won’t.
I will celebrate this Christmas; I will embrace this season…I
AM embracing this season.
I’m finding that like last Christmas (only amplified), that
songs about The Child are affecting me deeply. I can’t imagine what Mary went
through—no clean hospital, no knowledgeable staff or medications; no ERs or
nurses, or even her mother to hold her hand…no sterilization, no clean towels…
Not even a bed, to lay her Newborn in.
“Away in a Manger” has never made me cry before…I can’t even
listen to it this year.
How could He bring Himself into this world? “No crib for a
bed?”
My son relies on my husband and I for everything—food,
shelter, water, love…clean diapers, toys, health.
The Son of God needed someone to change His diaper, to rock
Him to sleep…
Did she understand?
He had to learn to walk…to fall down, and bump His head…
To cry…
To be hungry…
To be broken…
How great is our salvation?
I think about my son, and I think about The Son, and I’m
stunned…why, oh why, did He do that? How could He? How can He see us as worthy?
How can He see our broken hearts, and our broken messes in
life, yet find us worthy of such sacrifice? How can He see our pain, and cry
with us? How can He see our joy (compared to what He knows), and laugh with us?
How, and why, can He love us?
He became like us…one of us…He knows us from the inside out,
and still redeems us…He still gives us hope. He still has faith in us, which is
amazing…
It’s the time of year when the whole world sparkles; it’s a
season of hope, yet our news is full of people in pain and in sadness. Celebrating the season doesn’t make the
darkness go away…it does remind people of family and tradition, of stories and
of imagination, even in the secular world.
For me, it reminds me of childhood…of deep and painful
memories…of healing, and most of all, of hope…
My son will most likely not remember his first Christmas.
I, for one, will never, ever forget it…
I have never been more thankful for my Savior, than when I
see Him reflected in my own child…I have never appreciated His sacrifice like I
do in this moment. This Christmas feels like MY first Christmas…it feels like I’m
seeing it through a completely different set of lenses. The emotion of this
season is overwhelming…I want to shake people, to ask them if THEY GET IT. Do
they SEE it? Do they feel it? When they hear “a Child, a Child, shivers in the
cold; let us bring Him silver and gold,” do their hearts break for a King that
became helpless? For a King Who cried when He needed His mother’s touch?
He became we…
I know this blog is long…I know I’ve gone on for a long
time, but I’m entrenched in this…
It’s not just about Christmas…
It’s about motherhood…about being His Child…about seeing Him
in my child…about seeing Him with new eyes, and with a new heart….It’s about
realizing His true humility, and the reality of what He did at the beginning of
His story on earth…
It’s about rediscovering joy in the midst of heartache,
about finding the new with respect to the old…
It’s about believing in the possibility of the unexpected…about
declaring that the formerly-impossible is happening.
It’s about the gift of the present…the Presence…
It’s about the celebration of the Sacrifice…how it gives us
such Hope, Peace, Joy, Happiness…
Christ is Christmas…no amount of pain or joy can change
that.
May this season be one of eyes being opened to the Truth of
the holiday…of hearts being broken for Him, and repaired by His love…of Hope
for the future, and of Destiny in His grace…May you celebrate The Child and the
Sacrifice with true understanding…
May you have the ultimate Joy this season…
