Honest Communication with God, Christmas Potpourri

12 Days of Christmas Grief Relief - Day 4

 

The tragedy at Shady Hook Elementary School in Connecticut, USA, seems worse to many because  the shooting took the lives of so many little ones just before Christmas - a season our culture has made in to an event that showcases the innocence of children.  As each of us digs deeper in to our own souls to try to make sense of a senseless event, my friends who have lost children have been thrown back into even deeper grief.  Every news story confronts us with words and pictures that not only show us the devastation of this community but create blazing neon signs in our own souls that scream, "These families have such a horrific, long journey ahead of them." I cry every time I watch the news and have begun to limit my exposure.

While the timing of this horror seems to make the murders even more demonic, ironically, the Christmas story can also cultivate and nurture seeds of hope and redemption that were planted on that first Christmas.  The darkness that surrounded the birth of Jesus can serve to make His light even brighter to those who are desperately seeking their way on this black pathway of grief.


Mark

A few years ago I shared some of my Christmas perspective that has come by pushing my grief through the grid of the "REAL" Christmas story instead of all the superficial trappings.
About two weeks before Thanksgiving every year I begin to feel disorganized, disconnected and emotionally edgy. Responding to irritations without irritation is more difficult. Anger and impatience vie for top billing in situations that don't normally rattle me.  
And every year Chuck reminds me that my root problem is grief. I miss Mark. Over fifteen years after Mark's accident and the freight train of sorrow still surprises me with its ferocity and power.

Leaning Into the Pain
It's not until I embrace the longing for what was that I'm able to experience joy in the sorrow. This year on December 4, I wrote to God in my journal:

I miss Mark. What else is there to say? I want my son. Do I trust You? Do I know You are sovereign, that You are good all the time? Yes. Yet living in the context of Your sovereign love does not change my longing for Mark. I want to see him, to touch him, to hug him, to ruffle his dark, curly hair, to watch his strong hands grasp his drum sticks and beat out the rhythms of Shine, Jesus, Shine, one more time. I want to see him interact with Heidi, Chuck and Dan as an adult. I want my son. To see his smile, his beautiful eyes framed by those incredibly long eyelashes. I miss him. What he was, what he would be. Oh God, yes, I know You are sovereign. I can trust You. You are good all the time. I know this. And I miss Mark and I long for what was. There. I said it. I want my child.

Grief is hard work. And fighting the natural longing for what was requires powerful energy. Sometimes the best weapon is to acknowledge your inability to break the ache in your soul for the one who is missing. And then armed with that truth, tackle the tasks of the day, sowing seed while weeping, believing that such obedience will one day reap joy.

Your Father welcomes your tears, your pounding on His chest, your admission of what feels like weak faith. But my friend, when you take your longings to Him, your "weak faith" is actually priceless faith, because it reveals your trust that He is sovereign and that He is the only One Who can bring any sense to this senseless moment.

So after I expressed what was obvious to my husband and those who love me, what happened?  Identifying and admitting the root cause of the dark cloud freed me to once more accept that Grief will always be lurking but I could turn the tables and allow my heightened emotions to make me more aware of the heart of God in Christmas.

 

My first step was to eliminate some needless distress by giving myself permission to cross off my to do list the many tasks that weren't important to any one but me. Every year, I have to stop trying to recreate the "old Christmas feeling" and accept that joy comes in all kinds of packages. I need open my heart to allow God to surprise me with His treasures.

Each task that remained became an opportunity to worship as  I remembered the pain of that first Christmas, where the shepherds watched over lambs being prepared for sacrifice, where a young virgin gave birth to a little boy in a stable after a long, arduous journey. Instead of her mother and trusted friends ministering to her and encouraging her through her labor pains, surrounded by dirty animals and all the smells that go with them. Instead of a clean cradle, a manger. Instead of familiar family members welcoming her baby, strange wise men and shepherds. And eventually, instead of a secure home, running for their lives with the screams of mothers as their boys were murdered by marauding soldiers echoing in their hearts. For reasons I cannot explain even to myself, the dark anguish of that first Christmas gave me hope.
Perhaps hope peeked out of my own heart because  out of that first Christmas pain comes redemption. And out of my pain, comes hope and confidence that God is sovereign and I can trust Him, even with the longing for what was. 

If you are someone you know is struggling with grief during this Christmas season, visit Griefshare for more ideas on how to "survive" the holidays.  There you can also sign up for Seasons of Grief, a daily email that will greet you each morning with a tender thought to help you on your grief journey.

In His Grip,
Sharon

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