Fixing a Broken Christmas
- Dec 23, 2015
- 7 min read
Updated: Feb 17, 2022
Christmas is here again. For most of my adult life, I’ve always held my breath once December hits, just hoping I can get it all done before the day arrives. There was plenty of fun in the month, but it was still just a GO FASTER theme. Trying to find the perfect gifts for my kids, the right experiences to remind them it’s NOT just the gifts, and time enough while frosting cookies to talk about what really matters. Which, of course, is Jesus in the manger, lowly shepherds, and - you know, all that stuff.
I know the Christmas Story by heart, from the, “In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree...” all the way to the end, when Luke ran out of things to say. It’s such an awesome story full of passionate truth and real love that I read it over and over again. (The parts where the Pharisees get yelled at will always be my faves.) But, in hindsight, now, I realize there was always something missing.
Do you ever have that moment when you KNOW something’s supposed to be a big deal - but it doesn’t FEEL like one? That was me about the manger scene. Even though I loved Jesus, I wasn’t particularly moved by his birth alone. I remember the first time I watched a beautiful movie of that first Christmas, with the fancy wise men and the beautiful star... poor Mary on that donkey... and while my brain understood what was happening, my heart just wanted to get to Big Jesus already. With all his miracles and power, and THE CROSS. I mean, the whole Bethlehem birth was just a necessary step to fulfill prophecy and get to Easter, right? Easter is where things CHANGED - I can get emotionally passionate about Easter. I mean, come on - the Cross is intense. But the Manger Scene? It’s very nice and sweet. Lambs and hay and angels and all that. I love the whole humility thing. The bravery of Mary, the strength of Joseph... but enough already, lets get to when God saved the world and Jesus shuts the Pharisees down. His birth - and therefore Christmas - was more meaningful to me in a symbolic sense. It was a time to focus on family, because that’s what Jesus’ birth did - created the opportunity for me to have my pretty life and give to my family and friends like God has given to me. Merry Christmas, Hallelujah.
But THEN.
Then my son Oliver was born on Christmas Eve without a heartbeat (if you’re new to my blog, here’s the story). What started as a happy day of wrapping presents for our soon-to-be family of five, ended with me and my husband walking out of the hospital at midnight a family of four, with a tiny box rented at the morgue. We said nothing on the way home, just held hands, and promised each other we wouldn’t talk about it until Christmas was over. CHRISTMAS AND DESPAIR ARE ILLEGAL TOGETHER, you see. So when the kids got up in the morning, we pretended like everything was fine. I wore a sweatshirt so our 8 year old wouldn’t notice my deflated belly, and I made my extended family promise they wouldn’t talk about it when we came over. I couldn’t reconcile celebrating Christmas while mourning death. So we chose to pretend celebrate so it wouldn’t “ruin” anyone’s day - an idea I created against everyone’s wishes cause I didn’t know what else to do.
A year later, when the first anniversary of his death came around, and Christmas again, our marriage was in utter chaos. We’d spent the year avoiding anything real between us because the pain and confusion was paralyzing. At night we drowned our relationship in just ONE MORE EPISODE of every Hulu show. I remember vividly, “Oh Holy Night” playing on the radio as we left a random Christmas Eve Church service that year, the lyrics “the thrill of hope, a weary world rejoices” infuriating me: there was no hope in our lives. And a baby in a manger from years ago wasn’t going to help. Easter? I could deal with that. But pretty births? Who cares? The birth was just a necessary event so Jesus could die. Our weary souls had no rejoicing in them.
But slowly, after that Christmas, things started to change. Counseling got us to dive into what had happened. Our routine of forcing ourselves to read the Bible every morning was filling our broken souls. Our jacked up ways of dealing with life by faking perfect were exposed and trashed. Living life under the control of fear for “ruining” things for other people was uprooted. We invited God into the parts of us we were too ashamed to share with Him or each other. The grieving process began to happen, and suddenly, I was allowed to be real about my pain, EVEN ON CHRISTMAS. On Oliver’s second birthday, we lived raw and talked about him all Christmas long - just the two of us. Healing was happening.
Another year gone by, and here comes Christmas, again. It’s Oliver’s third birthday this year, and we’re better enough I think. We are telling our individual and marriage stories on a regular basis. There’s no more hiding, no faking, no trying to manage what other people think. But Christmas is always when I retreat, and I’m braced to take it one step at a time. Nothing too intense, maybe just a little Christmas song or two - as long as it’s not Silent Night...
We decide to do Christmas service at church. I mean, it’s church, it’s not like they’re going to talk about death or anything - that’s Easter after all. There’s beautiful songs, and I’m teary-eyed cause, well, I liked Christmas once. I’m dealing. There’s funny Elf dances, skits about money and gifts not mattering... and yes, yes! Hooray for it all! Merry Christmas! Hallelujah!
But then, a video. It started with light-hearted music and fun editing... and I’m just like “oh the cute Christmas Love...”, cause, well, it’s SAFE. I can do funny and happy. The guy on the video is just trying to come up with the “right” prayer to make Christmas matter. And I’m sure he’s about to land on some verse in Luke and call it a day. Just like I always did before Oliver died. I loved Jesus, I know the meaning of Christmas, so just say a nice verse and...
But then his wife comes in. “Funny” quips start to hit hard. A fight starts. And I’m gripping and clenching everything in my soul... I CAN’T DO THIS. Their conversation starts unraveling, their painful life circumstances come to the surface. The wife belts out, “I’m at the end of my rope and all you want to talk about is CHRISTMAS HOPE?!!?”
And I’m just the emoji with rivers going down my face. I had forgotten how dark it had been that first year and it was all flooding back. I was watching the movie version of all the hopelessness I’d yelled at God the last three years. The despair of feeling like life is crumbling, but you have to pretend that Christmas takes it away for a day? No. I couldn’t do that anymore.
But the movie isn’t over yet. The background music starts and the guys thoughts become out-loud words...
“...This has been a really hard year for a lot of us... Sometimes you feel like everything is dark, like there’s no light in the world. Like there’s no hope. But I was reminded that Jesus came into this world, came into the mess that is our lives and brought us hope. And what we’ve been through last year and what we’re going to go through next year, He is with us....”
You guys, I went insane. HOPE. I realized for the first time in three Christmases I actually HAD HOPE. When the movie went black, and the manger scene people all started walking out, I was suddenly that girl who couldn’t handle any of the Christmas Story. It was all too much for me. I FINALLY GOT IT. The kind lady sitting next to me pulled a portable Kleenex package out of her purse - and even got a couple out to get me started - because I was using my coat to catch it all. My mind was flooding and flooding with all the last three years’ memories...
My husband... I had no idea how we'd made it. In the beginning I’d just lock myself in my room, shutting him out because I had no pain-room left. If we hadn’t made it through, if hope hadn’t appeared, Christmas would be grieving Oliver AND my marriage. The only person who went through it with me, would be nowhere. But somehow, we were here together now. He is and has always been my only person, the only one that gets me. And I almost quit because I had no hope.
Oliver. The first months after his birth I had no hope. My choices were to forget he existed, or feel pain every time his name came up. We never had memories after all - I wasn’t allowed to be sad. It’s not like it was a real death, no one understood. But then Megan came in (story here). We went to the Angel of Hope candle lighting ceremony this month, together. On the drive up, we’d switch off doing the ugly cry while talking about our babies, to laughing uncontrollably: the iPod was supposed to play songs about heaven, but played “A Hunting We Will Go” instead. We did the ugly cry, laying our white roses on the Angel of Hope, and then laughed all over when my super-meaningful candle caught fire and she had to jump on it to put it out. I did the ugly cry, when a little three year old boy there, named “Oliver”, kept needing his Mom to call his name to stay by her side. There was so much joy, my heart was bursting. When I’m with Megan, it’s like the baby I never met feels as much a part of my family as Max. His life brings me joy, even now. I never would’ve hoped for that.
I kept crying until the service was over. People were looking at me like, “maybe she needs help...? Should we ask?” My husband wiped the mascara off my face as we laughed through our tears about the concerned glances. The manger scene was PRETTY INCREDIBLY EMOTIONAL, OKAY? Don’t you KNOW?
Easter is when God made a way for us to be with him forever, and that’s awesomeness of course. But Christmas was the day when He came to be WITH US too, to hold our hearts and give us hope until that Forever comes. It isn’t so you can pack all your happy into one month and end the year on a good note. It wasn't just so he could exist to die - He came to be with us along the way. Christmas is so you remember, HE CAN FIX IT. OH MY GOSH, CAN HE FIX IT. THERE'S HOPE FOR JOY, ALWAYS.
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