The Holidays are Heavy

 

Merry, bright, and light. Those were the holidays of our childhood that we waited on impatiently. They were full of wonder and the memories made had a glow about them. Then, we grew up. We got older and wiser and more weary of the temporary. Suddenly, the presents weren't as important as the presence and the things we truly wished for were beyond our reach. Our tables were less full as chairs were taken away each year. No more grandpa, goodbye grandma, I miss you dad. Each year became a little less merry, the shine dulled, and the burden grew heavy. We feel a little more broken and aren't sure how to mend our wounds. 

Those who are left grieving over the holidays wonder if there is a way to make the holidays feel whole again. The simple answer to this is that they will never be the way they were before just like we will never be the people we were before again. When we are young we were taught that healing means making the brokenness and the cracks go away. We have learned through living that the cracks don't disappear. Many times they don't even fade, but we learn how to live new lives.

Many of us have found ourselves guilty with this thought that hurting over the holidays somehow makes less of the birth of Christ. This could not be less true. Our pain teaches the reason that Christ came into the world. The realities of this world aren't beautiful without Jesus. They are distorted and broken. I've come to realize over my years of loss that death isn't beautiful even knowing Jesus, but it is temporary and powerless. He didn't come into beauty to enjoy this lovely world. He came into a broken, desperate, and death filled world to bring unbelievable hope.  His life ended violently and unfairly, a poetic portrayal of the human experience of life in a sinful world. Even so, we lift our hands to praise him because the darkness could not overcome him. 

He doesn't call us to hide the brokenness or guilt us into believing in some made up utopia. Quite the opposite. He warns us that being a follower does not exempt us from pain, and can at times even bring discord into our lives. There was a point in church life when people started to believe the lie that we can't show our broken parts because God's power in our story would somehow be diminished. Over the past few years I have seen many churches fight against this lie and fight for vulnerability and honesty. The stories that have come out of this movement have been powerful precisely because God's power is displayed in our helplessness. 

During Christmas time I like to describe grieving as feeling like a broken ornament glued back together. Those parts of ourselves that are cracked can feel like open wounds and are not always comfortable to show. Yet, God calls his followers to display his glory through our losses and disappointments. Yes, the cracks are still there, but there is also the light of hope shining through. There is a rebuilding as someone not the same, but still beautiful. We become a testimony of the scars that this world gives, but the resilience that comes through being comforted by our Heavenly Father who brings meaning to pain.

So then how can we move forward during the holidays without the people we love around our table? We can move forward with vulnerability, leaving space emotionally for the pain. We find ways to make our lost loved ones present through traditions that honor their memory. We ask God to comfort us in our grief and surround ourselves with people that care. More than anything else, we praise God for being a father that sent his son Jesus into a world in pain to bring hope and redeem the hardest parts of life. We don't have to be grateful for the loss, even while we celebrate the hope of the one who saved us from death. Let your sadness inform your understanding of joy and your loss build a mature faith. 

Wishing you a hope filled Christmas this year, Amy.