Like I mentioned before, it’s kind of just expected that the first couple holidays after losing someone are going to be hard. And I’ve kinda just been hoping that I would be an exception. I mean, all the holidays so far had been a piece of cake! Not to mention the fact that, in general, I think I’ve done pretty well to not be overwhelmed by grief in any way. Just the other day some old friends revealed to me that, behind my back, they kept saying how “weirdly okay” I’ve seemed.
Plus, how bad could Christmas be? Right? I mean the whole thing is about Light in the darkness. Literally, you hear “JOY” and “MERRY” sung a hundred different ways every single day. And I love the cold weather. Is it really that difficult to be, I don’t know, not sad?
Apparently it might be.
Christmas for Cassie
Christmas was Cassie’s favorite holiday. No doubt about it. Cassie was all about traditions and her family had soooo many. After Thanksgiving dinner,all the siblings and their spouses would draw names for who would get who a Christmas gift. They always set up the Christmas tree and lights the day after Thanksgiving (and by “they” I mean Cassie and her dad). On Christmas Eve, they’d open one gift each—a set of pajamas. They always got dental hygiene supplies in their stockings. Then, after unwrapping all the gifts, the whole family would rush to the front yard and have a big silly-string fight!
Cass loved every minute of it. So of course, we tried making our own traditions too. Though in retrospect, I pretty much started them all out of my own stubbornness… We always waited till at least December to set up all the decorations, including a live tree (at my urging for the first two years). We had to make mulled cider at least once a week leading up to Christmas, just to fill our apartment with the smell of spiced apples (because I insisted on making it so much). Julep got dressed up in a winter sweater anytime friends came over (I was the one who said we all had to have sweaters for pictures). And I would do a special, homemade devotional/prayer-plan leading up to Christmas Eve (which Cassie didn’t get on board with until our third Christmas married).
This year I questioned whether I should try to keep up these traditions or not. If I did, apparently my heart would break all over again with each memory-filled bauble to hang on the Christmas tree. I found this out the hard way when I broke down in tears just from opening the box of decorations (side note: SERIOUSLY?!). And if I didn’t keep the traditions, I knew I would be left feeling hollow, like I was neglecting something so important to me and to Cassie. I needed help. I needed saving from this dilemma and from the loneliness I was feeling. I like to think I recognized it because of the same traditions that I had been putting off.
A Season of Salvation
That homespun devotional I mentioned was my way of celebrating Christmas for the last 4-5 years. Every year I try to get more attuned with how those 1st century people, those eagerly awaiting a savior, would have felt about his birth. They needed salvation from tyrannical governments, from constant civil unrest, from rampant poverty and disease, and from hypocritical or outright false religious leaders. They cried out for salvation from a multitude of problems that had no easy answers.
My way of getting attuned to those people was to make a list of things that either I or the world desperately need saving from: from inattentiveness to my spouse to lack of access to healthcare, from my own chronic disease to the suffering of millions worldwide. Then, after making that list, I would meditate on and pray relief from one of those things every day. I began the day after Thanksgiving and ended when I would attend a Christmas Eve service (maybe with a couple breaks).
So I learned, I think, to look for salvation. But where would I look for it?
The Gospel According to Matthew and Luke describe the Christmas story we hear each year. There was a girl named Mary, a virgin conception, a manger, some shepherds, maybe even some wise men, and at the end of it, a savior was born. But the Apostle John described the Christmas story a little differently, in a way that I chose to focus on instead for the past several years:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
[Some really cool language about Jesus being the Light which shines in the darkness]…
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.
John 1
John skips over all the messy details and jumps straight to a bigger, more abstract point—the incarnation,the idea of God-made-flesh. It’s the story that the “true Light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world.” The God, the Power who made the world, was going to save us from our burdens, our problems, our struggles by joining us in them. It’s the story of no longer needing to look for salvation only in the heavens we can’t reach, but of being able to look for salvation in a person who walks with us.
My Savior(s)
So, combining the way I’ve celebrated Christmas for the last several years—focusing on salvation and John’s abstract incarnation mumbo-jumbo—I knew what I needed to do to solve my problem this year. I needed to find salvation, salvation in the form of someone who was only dust and earth on the outside, but who had God on the inside. I looked to the church. I looked to my friends.
I invited a number of people over to help me out with decorating. I knew I couldn’t look through the box of ornaments without wanting to cry. So I left all that junk to them. All I did was make hot chocolate and cookies for everyone. They made my apartment look wonderful. It’s cozy, warm, and bright, just like the person we miss. No tears.* Just joy.
Our Savior is described by John as the “light that shines in the darkness,” and his church is described as the “light of the world.” Now my place feels as light as the people that were just there—like there’s no place for the darkness that comes with grief and loneliness. Salvation shows up in many ways. But the truest kind is always incarnational. I hope you can find that this Christmas season. It’s what I’ll be counting on if I’m gonna make it through the next few weeks.
*No tears from me. A few days later my friends confessed they may have cried a good bit while hanging up ornaments for me… Sorry guys.
P.S.
Because I brought it up… WHAT ON EARTH!!! Why do the holidays make people who are grieving even more sad!? Everything is about happiness, hope, light, being merry! How are the “holiday blues” even a thing?!
I’ve prided myself on being not out of control with my grief. And like I keep saying, I’ve not been feeling grief for past memories, only for thoughts of the future. So this has been completely new for me, and I don’t understand it!!
I’m thinking it maybe has something to do with the contrast between the hopes put in this season of light and the reality of the shadow of loss, like the contrasts I wrote about before. I don’t know what your thoughts are, but you’re welcome to share them!
