Christmas.

It’s that time of year that everyone seems to love. The air electric with joy and anticipation. Time of gathering together and eating copious amounts of baked goods. The nights longer, allowing for those pretty Christmas lights to shine bright.

It’s in these moments where we get lost in the joy and good of the year passed. I mean, I think we are allowed to and to some degree are supposed to. To look over the past year and think of how “blessed” we are. Suddenly all family feuds are put to the side for the sake of those sappy family Christmas posts. And for those who still send out those cards with family photos. (For the record, I really hope this never ends because getting cards in the mail truly is the best.)

It is Christmas after all. Where would we be without said Christmas photos?

I think of my Christmas’ past. With the exception of last year, all I can think is of how exciting Christmas always was. The curiosity of what lay under the tree ready to be opened almost seemed too much to bear. Everything seemed exciting. Wanting to keep up with certain traditions both new and old. The joy of going out and finding gifts. Watching endless amounts of sappy Christmas movies. Counting down the days between school and work, often feeling as though Christmas may never come.

Then there’s this year. I have faced my most personal and difficult loss yet. The reality of it still not completely sinking in. And so it almost feels as if I’m moving in slow motion as everyone around me blurs by in clouds of joy. It’s almost as if it’s like one of those nightmares where I know I should be running, I’m trying to run but my legs just simply aren’t moving.

I know it’s a season of joy and hope. I should be feeling those things, yet here I am stuck in a sadness that doesn’t seem to want to leave.

Therefore, there is a small part of me which wants to boycott this holiday all together. Because along with the grief is also reminders from everyone around me of what my Christmas could look like. Whether direct or indirect. And let me tell you while they may be meant as happy reminders, they often just feel painful.

Today I realized how insensitive I must have been to friends and family in their season’s of loss. There’s a part of me that wishes I could take what I know now and go back to those moments. Going back and hugging people longer, acknowledging the pain they may be feeling and hopefully helping them feel less alone in their grief.

Because that’s just it. As everyone is caught in the hustle and bustle of Christmas preparations, I’m caught wondering what it will be like/feel like in this first Christmas without him. In this current moment and many moments in the weeks passed I have felt incapable to do Christmas.

As the people around me are faced with their childlike wonder of the Christmas season, I’m caught in the void which is grief and missing someone dear.

Don’t get me wrong, there are moments where I feel that familiar warmth of the Christmas season. That cozy feeling as my favorite Christmas songs play, the Christmas tree glowing as I hope for the beautiful scene of snow falling outside.

Then suddenly, I’m pulled from that moment and brought to feelings of strangeness. As if it were almost any day of the year. Except it’s this year: the year of grief. The year of loss.

So while yes, I’m happy for you and your ‘perfect’ year of family and friends, don’t forget about those who are mourning. Don’t forget about those who are unable - whatever the reason may be - to fully embrace the Christmas season.

Let me also say that there is nothing wrong with embracing the joy of this season. You may have just had the best year yet, and that’s awesome and I celebrate with you as much as I can.

I guess in this last year I’ve really just become aware to how insensitive we can be. I am no stranger to this and I’ve come to the conclusion that most of the time people do not mean to be insensitive. (And this is not, in any way a matter of offended. I think we can all agree that there’s been too much of that lately…)

It’s simply just a matter of empathy.

Grief feels selfish. It feels like a parasite which requires all energy from myself and also hopes for extra love from those around me. I am truly trying to show up and be joyful and celebrate with you, I really am. But honestly, to my very core I have felt this loss. Being the person of connection and love that I am every part of me has felt violated in this season of grief.

I think that’s why I’m struggling so much with this. Especially as Christmas fast approaches.

I was talking with someone this week and she said to me, “I’m still sorry for your loss.”

No one, not one time before that has said that in that way. And honestly, it has been one of the most meaningful one liners someone has ever said to me. (And trust me there have been a lot of one liners over these last ten months.)

As I write this I think of many people in my life and I come to the conclusion that there is no perfect family. There is no family that is left untouched to the reality that we are imperfect and flawed and so incredibly, painfully human. There are so many different reasons for people to have a difficult Christmas.

So from my heart to yours here is to navigating this holiday season. Here is attempting to deal with whatever it is all the while attempting to be joyful and present in the moment.

And this, this is where the true reason for the season comes in. However cliche as that statement may be.

The reason we gather is because of Jesus, whether you celebrate that or not.

A king born in the most humblest of moments, yet also the most profound. Jesus, born to the virgin Mary, here to set the captives free. Here as the great Saviour of the world. His presence can mean extravagant joy. It can also mean comfort in devastating loss.

Because that’s just it. While there may be expectations that with Jesus we must be eternally joyful and hopeful, the reality is there is still great loss and suffering. There is still sickness, even while we hope for a miracle to happen. And with that being said, while we may hope for a miracle to come, it may not.

Does that mean we stop being hopeful and believe for a miracle to happen - in whatever capacity that may be - absolutely not.

This year has shown me that regardless of things happening the way we may have or have not expected we still have hope. We still can choose to believe that regardless of life we know that God is the God of love and hope and wholeness. While we may not understand the outcomes, at the end of the day He is good. He is just. And He is faithful.

He is a God who chose to come as a helpless babe, in a moment that was both incredibly extravagant and humble. In this a holy tension resides. Both extravagance and humility.

So for me this means a loving Father who is present in mourning. For me this means residing in the mystery of an all powerful God who seems to remain silent in certain moments. (Key word here is seems…)

And honestly, I think this Christmas will be silent. It will be a quiet joy that may not necessarily be felt, but it is there. It is a hopeful one, that regardless of the tears - the many, many tears - my spirit bursts at the thought of Jesus. His promise. His gift.

Because that has been the gift of this year. That regardless of how much I wish I could change things, He - my God - has redeemed the impossible. He has reminded me time and time again that He is here, and that He is good, and that He did not take my brother away from me. Jesus has taught me that even in the midst of extreme sorrow, joy can be found. It may be quiet and small, but it is there.

So from my heart to yours, Merry Christmas.

May you feel hope, whether great or small. And may you get to know Hope; Jesus. The King of Kings, Emmanuel. Given so we may know eternal life. But more than that, so we may know love. True, pure, perfect love that redeems the impossible.