Christmas has always always always been my most favorite holiday. I couldn't care less about the gifts I receive, but I love the grandeur and the celebration of it all. I love celebrating the gift of God's son. I love the traditions that my family started when I was a kid. I remember Christmas Eve nights looking at lights in our pjs while Mariah's Merry Christmas album played in the truck. I remember singing the background vocals on "Jesus, Oh What a Wonderful Child" with particular fervor. I remember watching A Christmas Story with Dad every year before everyone else woke up. I remember reading Luke 2 as a family before we opened gifts and the smell of Dad's homemade biscuits wafting through the den.
I now have a son who rocks those same background vocals, is enamored with Christmas lights in pjs, and thinks biscuits are a boy's best friend. Christmas really puts an exclamation point on his joy, which is saying a lot if you've ever seen him (except for that Christmas program this week...whew that was a hoot and a half and a story for an entirely different blog). The magic of the season and the celebration just tend to heighten our joy and sense of fulfillment.
But Christmas also has a way of putting an exclamation point on our grief. We're coming on our third Christmas without my father-in-law, yet it still is just as raw as the first some days. I think about what he would have wanted for Christmas, but I think the real answer is time and family. I think about how he would have reacted to our "depriving" of that boy, as he often said when we didn't spoil him right away. I can still hear his booming bass voice in my ear during the candlelight service at our church - an event he made sure never to miss once we moved up here.
He isn't the only one we are missing this year. This year, our BSD will be spending his first Christmas with another family. He will experience their traditions, their love, their celebration - even if only for this first Christmas. We will never know Christmas with him, and how my heart aches for that. My grief is someone else's joy. On the flip side of that, I also think of our precious HWD's birth family, who asked for an update at Christmas this week. They miss him as well and long to share traditions that are unique to them with him. My joy is their grief and sorrow. It's so interesting to me how the same situation causes two completely different emotions, depending on the side of the coin you're viewing.
I was sharing with a friend this week that it is 100% OK not to be jolly this time of year. No one can force a particular emotion on you, and it is normal to not feel as jolly as you normally would. Loss is hard. To be frank, it sucks. There are now 2 empty seats at our Christmas celebrations, and it will never be easy to think of what the day would look like with two little boys running around our tree and creating all kinds of mayhem.
But I will be present for the son who is running around our tree creating plenty of mayhem on his own. I will see his joy, a reflection of the joy of the Lord, and I will thank the Lord that his promises are fulfilled, and that His perfect plan is enough for me. "The joy of the Lord is my strength - Nehemiah 8:10." Merry Christmas everyone.
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