Every Christmas Has Its Cares

By

[Editor’s Note: Laura Boggs has been a friend since I first met her at Hutchmoot, and she’s been a good friend and writing partner of Lanier Ivester for far longer than that. She’s a fine writer and you should bounce over to her blog and have a look around right after you read this fine Christmas meditation. -Pete Peterson]

We do it every year. It’s always there, the unspoken expectation that this Christmas will be bigger and shinier and sweeter than the one before.

By the end of Christmas Day, when the shreds of paper and ribbon are picked up off the floor and we can’t possibly eat another morsel, if the topics of politics and religion have been successfully dodged and no one got sick and everyone is feeling fat and happy, we might look at each other in triumph and breathe. We did it. We had the best Christmas ever. Again.

But every Christmas has its cares. Sometimes the pain is acute and we feel cheated. Other years we find we can’t conjure up feelings of good will toward men, not when we’re in line at Wal-mart, at least. There’s always somebody or something missing, even if we can’t put our finger on it. What do you think about when the church lights are dimmed and you’re holding the little candle you’ve been issued and you’re trying not to get wax on your Christmas Eve finest as you sing ‘Silent Night’? Why the lump in the throat?

After my grandfather died one December, I shared a hymnal with my Nana during service and heard her voice crack with fresh grief. A few years later, when she was gone too, my sad ‘Silent Night’ was for her. Or was it? Maybe it was relief, in some strange way, to have a reason to be melancholy. I’m not talking about being moved by the symbol of the Light in the darkness. I’m talking poor me, a sense that all is not right with the world at a moment when it should at least seem to be.

During my self-absorbed teenage years, the awkward and lonely years that follow childhood wonder, the littlest nothing could put a dent in a perfectly decent Christmas. Those were the days of a boy not calling for a promised New Year’s date so aren’t all those sad songs on the radio just for me, and no one understands, and why aren’t I having as much fun as I used to—and what am I looking for?

What I had not found, I could not name and, for the most part, knew of only through my sense of its precious and puzzling and haunting absence. And maybe we can never name it by its final, true, and holy name, and maybe it is largely through its absence that, this side of Paradise, we will ever know it.
~ from The Sacred Journey by Frederick Buechner

I’ve since been crowned mistress of my household’s Christmas. Cares still come, of course. There was the Christmas three years ago when, Sadie, our special needs six-year-old became alarmingly lethargic, and we found ourselves in the emergency room on Christmas Eve. Never did Doritos from a vending machine taste more stale. But we got to go home and put Sadie to bed and eat a midnight meal by firelight, and she got well a few days later. I often wonder about those Whos down in Who-ville, who fah who forazed and dah who dorazed minus all the trimmings. Would I have it in me to do that?

Last Christmas Eve, with my candle lit, I watched Sadie, who had a seizure at the service’s start and was content to rest her curly head on her daddy’s shoulder, her long, dark eyelashes framing sleepy eyes. I tried not to think about her seizures or her surgery scheduled for the next week. Who ever thought we’d need a neurosurgeon? But even on Christmas Eve, one can never entirely leave the world behind, and although the world is full of gifts and splendor, they are sometimes wrapped in sorrow and trials. I think we take stock of things at Christmas, whether we set out to or not.

I took stock a few months after Sadie was born, and there was a flash of an instant when these shadowlands felt almost like home. The Spouse and I had come home late one Saturday night from a beautiful Christmas party, and I cradled my newest girl in my arms, sitting on the couch with my dress spilling around and the house quiet and the tree lights golden and I thought everything was strangely perfect. That was folly, and I knew it at the time, which marred the lovely moment a little.

I resist the marred moments—doesn’t everyone?—trying especially hard to avoid them during the time of the year most wonderful. But something has finally sunk in this year, and I think it would make those Whos proud, though I’m ashamed it has taken this long to feel like I could fah who foraze with the best of them. At the risk of sounding like a simpleton, I’ll tell you what my mind has finally whispered to my heart: Christmas is not about me.

We wish each other merry Christmas, and that is all fine and good. Then we ask each other, “How was your Christmas?” But at some level, we forget that Christmas just is, no matter how we celebrate or with whom or whether we altogether ignore the whole business. No matter what, a baby was born in a stable and God came and humbled himself and lived with us to serve and died for us to save.

Love came down, and a free gift (no strings attached) is offered to everyone, even me. There’s not a thing I—or my circumstances—can add or subtract to that.


17 Comments

  1. Debra Henderson

    Thank you for this Laura. I needed it so very much this morning!
    Three years ago was our final Christmas with our only child…
    Our first Christmas alone I was arguing with the Lord about my grief and the unfairness of it all and He gently reminded me that Christmas is not about me and my son…it’s about Him and His Son.

    I’ve had a rough week this week as the smiling faces of families greet me daily and have wrestled much with “poor me”. Thank you for helping lift my eyes once again to the Father who gave His Son for me. Hope was born in a manger.
    Merry Christmas to you!

  2. Cristell Perkins

    You are absolutely right – Perfect God in all His Splendor, the angels worshipping Him completely, lowering himself from majesty on the throne to the humility of a dusty stable as the child of peasants, to be spit upon and rejected by the ones He created, solely to redeem us. There is nothing better. Thank you for the beautiful reminder because I need constant reminding.

  3. Janna Barber

    For my facebook status yesterday, I almost posted, “feeling a little George Bailey-ish. Need y’all to remind me how wonderful my life is.” I thought it was pretty clever and hoped someone would reply with words to make my sadness flee. After more thinking though, I remembered Christmases past and realized how the season simply magnifies whatever is going on in our lives — good or bad. I’m glad I read this today because your whispered truth expands my understanding even more. Thanks for sharing your heart with us.

  4. Laura Peterson

    Thank you for this, Laura! I’ve been enjoying your blog this season. Merry Christmas Eve, fellow rabbits. Praying today that we all remember the best gift.

  5. James Witmer

    Amazing how often we must go through humility to find joy. And every time we do, we follow the path made by a baby, born in a stable, and raised to rule at the right hand of God almighty.

    Thanks for sharing this, Laura (and Pete).

    Merry Christmas to all fellow Rabbit Roomers!

    And if you missed it, check out Point of Grace covering Andrew Peterson’s “Labor of Love”: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y5gW9FUqp90&context=C3afa883ADOEgsToPDskJvk9Ljmc0VoHL6vH24E-tT

  6. Lori Ramsey

    You put into words what I’ve been thinking over tonight. Although I so badly want the “perfect Christmas,” it’s not about that — it’s about our precious Lord, coming to earth for us. Thank you for the beautiful reminder.

  7. Leanne

    This really resonated with me. I’ve thought of it several times since reading it yesterday morning. Thank you for your insight and gentle reminder: Christmas is not about me, thanks be to God.

  8. Duane

    Thanks Laura. As a father with a son who was born with Down syndrome, this was an encouraging read. Praying for you, and Sadie and the rest of your clan right now.

  9. Vanessa

    Somehow this post started me off imagining Christmas in heaven, wondering what would happen to our nagging hopes that every Christmas would be the best Christmas- and of course, one day that dissapointment will be turned upside down and we will experience the best Christmas ever.. Followed by another, and another, and another- thought up by one who can create endless new joys and gifts for us. ‘Further up and further in’. There won’t be anything or anyone missing. Our long advent one day will give way to the most glorious celebration of Christmas we can’t imagine.

  10. Lois

    Beautiful! Not every Christmas turns out as it is supposed to but I always try to remember that it turned out as God KNEW it would.

  11. Elizabeth Chambers

    Your description of the absence of the perfect, shiny Christmas carries the poignant message that it is not about me. I appreciate your candor & insight into our struggle. I, also, take stock of things -“the marred moments”- I try so hard to resist during the holidays (Holy Days). Of course, the desperate story of Mary & Joseph and Jesus’ humble beginnings show me how to rejoice over the pain & uncertainty of our Christmas cares.

If you have a Rabbit Room account, log in here to comment.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *