Merry and Not So Bright
When Christmas is hard, it's hard to rejoice when your heart is hurting, and it seems like the world is celebrating around you. But the same God who loved us enough to send His only Son understands you better than anyone else - and He's closer to you now than anyone else can be.
Holly Gerth
This Christmas was harder than anticipated, and it is hard to rejoice when your heart is hurting. The entire world around me was celebrating, but my heart was heavy and it was hard to join in on the celebration. This Christmas was merry, but not so bright. Even in the middle of such times, it is really easy to pretend we’re okay. But maybe we’re not, and that’s okay.
December 20th. Four days before Christmas. My Granny passed away.
It's okay.
December 23. For 12 hours straight, I was sicker than I have ever been.
It's okay.
December 23. My niece fell down and broke her arm. She went into surgery at 10 pm.
It's okay.
December 24. We visited my grandma who is in the nursing home. Two days later, she was moved to the Dementia wing.
It's okay.
December 25. The first Christmas I didn't spend with my Granny. The first Christmas I didn't bake oatmeal cookies. The first Christmas I didn't get her tight and comforting hug when I needed it the most.
It's okay.
December 26. The day we buried my Granny. The day I was asked to speak about her. To honor her. To lead my family into peace. To lead my family to the throne of Jesus. To watch my niece and nephew look for my Granny and ask for her.
It's okay.
The following Sunday we had an extended time of singing in church. The last hymn requested was It is Well With My Soul. Is it well with my soul? Oh, how I wish it was well with my soul. It doesn't feel like it can be.
It doesn't feel well. But it will.
A month prior to this Christmas break, I had been subject to Shingles. It was hard for me to feel the promise of kindness in this season. And maybe you are in the same place. I want you to know it’s okay.
January 1. My sister backed into my car. It had been such a frantic and hectic Christmas, I wasn't even upset. Honestly, I wasn't even surprised. As she hugged me and apologized for not paying attention, you know what I said? You got it. It's okay. I wasn't really surprised at this moment. I mean, the last two weeks, the last month, really, had been so entirely hard, why would I expect the first day of 2020 to be any different? Nothing about this Christmas has been normal. Quite honestly, my normal felt snatched away.
January 4. I started my journey back home. I spent time in the morning just praying. Praying for my journey. Praying over my next year. This year would be the year of breakthrough for me. The year of healing. This year, I decided on the statement, Make myself a priority. I choose to look to my emotions and I promise to not leave myself behind. I asked the Lord to show me that He is kind to me. I believe He is kind but I wanted to see it for me.
I want to know He is kind to me. I want to know that when grief hits like a hurricane, He is still kind. His kindness is already with me. I asked, pleaded, that I would notice His kindness to me. I drove out of my parent's driveway, and I cried my eyes out for thirty minutes long. Because that's how long it takes to get to the interstate. I so desperately was ready to get to my home, to my normal, to finally grieve. But I also so desperately wanted to stay where it felt safe. I wanted to stay with my parents. I was so terribly sad to be leaving and I don't know the last time I have felt that way. Grief like this does strange things to us.
I pulled into the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru to get a cup of coffee for this next journey (both literally and spiritually) and as I got the money to pay for it, the girl told me not to worry about it. I was so surprised and yet I felt so seen in that moment. I was like, "really?" It's funny to me because I asked the Lord to show me He was kind to me. And as I was driving and just thinking over this Christmas. I had actually thought it would be nice to have my coffee paid for. Just a little something to make up for how heavy my soul and heart felt. It's not even like coffee is expensive. It's Dunkin' Donuts, for goodness sake. I just really needed to feel seen. Oh. God. Father, you are so kind to me. I knew this was going to be a good day. I felt like the Lord was whispering to me: "I desire for you to be kinder to yourself."
A few minutes down the road and I felt the car starting to tremble. Or maybe that was just me. I'm sure you can see where this is going. The car wrestled with traction control and it began to push against any sort of acceleration. And then, with absolutely no surprise to me, my car began to go into alarm mode and lit up with warning signals. My service engine was in trouble. I stopped at the very next exit and called my dad. I had to turn around. As I tried to merge onto the interstate to return home, my car struggled with accelerating in the way that I wanted it to. The unfortunate problem with this was that no acceleration at this point on the road was unsafe for me. The semi truck and I were tightly integrated, fighting for our spot on the road. He took the best initiative possible to get into the other lane. It was impossible for me to accelerate, but it was just as impossible for him to make room for me.
I shook in fear and anxiety. I lost it.
I cried.
I don't mean a few tears down the cheek and I was over it. I mean, ugly cried. Everything in front of me appeared very blurry. I didn't even know I had that many tears. I was terrified. I was upset. I was really just over it, all of it.
It's not okay.
I just kept crying and crying. I didn't calm down or find any kind of peace until I finally reached my parents' house. Over and over again, I just kept crying out, "What the hell, God? Is this your idea of kindness? What is kind about this? I'm sorry, but we may need to reevaluate your definition of kindness. Because let me tell you, it isn't this.
Sometimes God doesn’t do quite what we anticipated.
But when I finally did get home, sit down, and feel the peace of being safe, I felt this overwhelming sense of His protection. His kindness is His protection. I thought maybe He protected me from something on the road that day. Or protected me from an issue that could have become increasingly worse for me, for my car and everything else on the road.
His Kindness is His protection.
But still. I needed kindness that felt like freedom. I needed a break. My family needed a break. I needed kindness.
Grief is forever. I know grief lasts. It never stops. It overwhelms. I know that. I admit that. This just feels like too much. Why does grief have to pile up so much? Can I please have a break? Am I the only one?
Last Sunday, I had planned to go see my best friend as a break from the drive. All of these things. All of this junk, this grief. It all felt like too much. It was piled high and deep. I couldn't handle it. I felt like too much. And I self-sabotaged this stop. There was a part of me that desired to see her. But there was this other part, a real big gloomy part, that felt like too much. I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to see or talk to anyone. I just felt really stuck.
Let me tell you, my counseling session this week was a tiny bit rough. I began to share my Christmas break, one thing after another, not really even realizing the extent of it all. And then at the end, I said "That's all." With a smile and a tiny laugh.
She looked at me with tears in her eyes. That's all? You act like none of that matters. Like all the things that happened to you are not important. That is a heavy Christmas. You laugh, pretending everything is okay. Why do you do that?
So, it's not okay. It is really heavy. God is working on me to show me I deserve self-kindness. I deserve to feel first before anyone else. I don't have to be the strong one. I don't have to pretend in front of anyone, but especially the Lord. I deserve to have the space to feel. It's easy to feel like none of this is real kindness. But it is, in a way. I just cannot totally see it right now.
I deserve to feel first before anyone else.
When you begin to ask about my Christmas (or anyone’s), anticipate the real answer. If you don't want to know the answer, quite frankly don't ask. Christmas is hard for anyone. Especially in transitional seasons and times. Some of us really need empathy. Understand that the holidays are not peaceful or jolly for everyone. For some of us, it was neither merry nor bright. Others it is merry but not so bright.
I sat in Eucharist last Monday afternoon. I was wrestling with self-doubt and hopelessness and I wasn’t feeling great about anything particularly good or new. I was broken. I was feeling heavy. I sat in this room, smelling frankincense, and the speaker at daily Eucharist (one of my closest friends) announced that it was Epiphany. And all of sudden, I sat there, stunned. “Holy crap. It is Epiphany.” Ding. Ding. Now this isn’t really too significant for anyone else but me. This idea of epiphany struck me, and I had this feeling that the Lord was going to do something new in me. The entire significance of this is for a different time and a different day.
But, 2020 was going to be about a new beginning. On this day of Epiphany, I was struggling. I had been praying and asking the Lord to show me He is kind to me. So, it was significant, simply because I felt like in this moment the Lord was reminding me, I see you. I am kind to you. Don’t miss it.
I believe God is always kind but maybe not quite in the way I expected or wanted. In this moment, it felt like the start of a new beginning. The story is that Epiphany is when the three wise men finally reach Bethlehem. They had followed the star but had been in the wrong place, and took the journey to Bethlehem. I wonder how frustrated they were. I wonder what they might’ve learned as they made the long journey. They must have felt kind of stuck before reaching Bethlehem. So many thoughts and doubts and disappointments. This is the realization that changes the rest of my story. Epiphany became my season of new beginnings and I can’t wait to see what my Bethlehem will look like in 2020. In 2020, there will be a healing. In 2020, there will be a breakthrough. The year the Lord is going to turn water into wine in me.
In this season, I need to remember that God is faithful. I need to remember that God is kind to me.
In this season, I will remember his promises to me. As I stand in this valley, I will worship the God who is kind to me.
Doesn't matter what I feel
Doesn't matter what I see
My hope will always be
In Your promises to me
(Your Promises, Elevation Worship)