It’s hard not to get into the Christmas spirit, isn’t it? I mean, just look around! Every other yard, it seems, has huge blow-up reindeer, and snowmen, and elves, and skeletons left over from Halloween now dressed in Santa suits. (Why?) All the stores are playing cheery Christmas music at top volume reminding us it’s the Hap-Happiest Time of the Year! Every electronic device advertises another XMAS BLOWOUT SALE about every five minutes.
I know you’re thinking “geez, is she really that cynical?”. Actually, I’m not. I really do like Christmas. I mostly enjoy the hustle and bustle, the shrieks of joy from the grandkids as they empty out their stockings and open their presents. I truly love Christmas music – especially the traditional hymns. I still hear in my mind my dad’s beautiful voice singing “O Holy Night” every year at the church pageant. Even the years when I wasn’t feeling so holly-jolly I still was stirred by “Joy to the World.”
But there have been years when my heart was heavy. The Christmas before my mama went to Heaven was hard. Her cancer was so advanced she could barely walk and needed oxygen constantly. We knew it was our last holiday with her.
I don’t remember much about the first Christmas after Rachel died. I was numb most of the time and panicked if I was somewhere I couldn’t quickly find a private place to cry.
I’m mostly fine during the holidays now. Rachel’s been in Heaven eight-and-a-half years. I miss her still. I’m nostalgic for the days when my girls sneaked into the living room early, early on Christmas morning to see what Santa brought. They had stockings until they were grown. I remember one year Rachel was home from college. I woke up to find her sitting on the couch waiting for me. “Um, did Santa not fill stockings this year?” Me: “Oh, uh yes, he did. Strangely enough he left them in my closet instead of the living room.”
These memories make me smile rather than cry these days. But my heart can still be bruised, if not broken by what could have been.
If you are grieving this holiday season, it’s okay to not have a loud, boisterous, busy Christmas. It’s okay to want an intimate gathering and to forego the feasting and gift giving. Don’t feel guilty if you’d rather not attend a pageant or parade. If you don’t want to decorate your yard or your house or your car. You can politely send your regrets to the huge party and instead invite over a quiet friend for coffee or a glass of wine. One who’s content with gazing at the fireplace, listening to music, or driving around looking at lights. It’s okay to start new traditions.
We tend to forget how quiet and private the first Christmas was. The exhausted mother nursing her newborn in a smelly barn. Gazing in amazement at this miraculous baby boy while her betrothed husband stands by awkwardly. Still stunned that he has actually delivered a baby. A job typically performed by a midwife while the husband paces in another room. Embarrassed at the intimacy of this experience he has shared with his virginal wife.
Perhaps when the baby falls asleep, they walk outside and gaze at the stars in shared wonder and silence. The first noel. Not a celebration; a new beginning.
Christmas can be joy-filled and still be quiet. It can be a time for reflection, soul-searching, and wonder all in one. Look for the spark of light in the darkness.
Find your noel.
Laura
A Light for My Path 
Leave a comment