Christmas Surprises, Part 5: When It's Not All Merry and Bright

Do you remember the first time someone special was absent from your Christmas circle? I sure do. Although 1986 was our first Christmas without my dad and we dearly missed him, the imminent arrival of our third baby didn’t allow me to focus on much else. With a due date of January 2, I secretly hoped for a New Year’s baby and any windfall that might come with the distinction. Instead, our little guy made us wait until January 7. His arrival brought tremendous healing to my grief over losing Dad.

Our little family stayed at five for two decades. Gradually, we grew to eight as our kids found partners, and eventually to thirteen as grandchildren came along. The thought that our family might shrink never occurred to me. Even when one relationship ended and we faced that awkwardness at Christmas 2021, in my naivety or maybe optimism, I truly believed we’d witness reconciliation before Christmas 2022 rolled around. How I prayed for it!

Instead, we were floored by yet another relationship ending. Our family now numbers eleven instead of thirteen, and we deeply miss the missing.

Though these unfortunate break-ups happen in more families than not, the sadness and pain caught me off-guard. No one wants this, especially for the children’s sake.

Isn’t it odd? We sing about joy to the world and peace and goodwill to all mankind. But in Luke 1:51 Jesus asks his disciples, “Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.” He goes on to explain how families will be divided against each other. Somehow, we all entertain these idyllic ideas of what our family should look like. Yet we’re helpless when it comes to making it look that way.

So what do you do when prayers for reconciliation are not answered the way you hoped, when your family looks smaller than it once did, when your heart aches and your eyes leak? I’m choosing, trying, and recommending three things.

1. Remain thankful. Though this Christmas felt unusually quiet, I can feel grateful for so much. Our grandsons still have two parents who love them and are involved in their lives. Not everyone can say that. Plus, I can embrace the extra stillness and alone time to rest from a busy year.

2. Look forward. We’re still a family, and if we allow our hurting hearts to draw us closer to one another instead of driving us apart, if we continue to laugh and have fun, and if we turn to God with every hard and happy thing he allows, we can eventually be a stronger unit than before.

3. Grow inside. By allowing the pain to make me more compassionate, I gain a greater understanding of what other parents go through when their families become fractured.

Of course, continuing to pray provides the umbrella over everything.

Those first holidays with someone missing make the message of Christmas doubly poignant. Jesus came into our messy world to provide a way to reconcile us to God, regardless of the choices we make. The decisions we regret. The people we disappoint. The times we feel betrayed. He came for it all. He loves us through it all. He made a way for us to thrive through it all. And to enter into a new year with an increased level of gratitude, hope, and compassion. May that prove true for you in 2023.

Happy New Year!

High Hopes

One cool thing about getting married while you’re still a baby is that you can mark significant anniversaries typically celebrated only by old people. Last January, when I realized that October 1, 2022 will mark 45 years since our wedding day, and that it fell on the Saturday of a long weekend, I began to scheme. All I wanted was to have our kids and grandkids with us for a few days. Organizing a family photo shoot would be the icing on the cake.

Odds were against making this happen. Covid-19 was still raging. Some of our crew would need to travel from Alberta. It would mean pulling kids out of school. Coordinating it all felt insurmountable. But with nine months’ lead time, I decided to start planning, hoping the early notice would work in our favor.

Once I had all our kids at least semi-committed, I booked three nights at a friend’s cottage near Clear Lake. They warned us it was up for sale, but they’d take it off the market if it hadn’t sold by the end of April. I booked a photographer friend to join us for one of the three days. Although everything seemed set, I knew I would need to hold the whole plan with open hands so that it would be less painful if it fell apart.

It has indeed tried to fall apart several times.

First, a job loss resulted in a plummeting income. How could we afford this now? I never would have started planning had I known. We decided to wait and pray. Before long, we received an unexpected cash gift that would cover the cost. It was easy to decide what to earmark the money for. Onward and upward.

Then, our friends sold their cottage. I wanted to cry but prayed instead. I approached another friend with a cottage, expecting to hear they did not rent it out. It turned out their cottage was not only available to us but also had more to offer at less cost. We booked it.

Shortly after that, our Alberta kids learned they had to move. Given their time constraints and Calgary housing, there was a likely chance they would need to be moving the weekend of our anniversary and would not be making the trip. I prayed hard about this one because no amount of texting, phoning, or alternative planning on my part could fix it. But on July 29 our daughter texted that they’d be getting the keys to their new digs in mid-August, leaving plenty of time to settle in before heading for Manitoba. Yay!

Next, we learned our photographer may have to bow out due to a family health situation. This one is still up in the air and being prayed about. We may have to settle for trying to take our own pictures, but at least we’ll have made memories.

Getting this family together for a photo might be easier.

 Between the prayers and the problem-solving, I’ve been planning meals and activities for this event while still trying to “hold it loosely.” Is that even possible? Having it pried out of my hands at this stage would be painful for sure. But holding it so loosely that I fail to plan would mean it never happens. It reminds me of that old saying, “Plan like you’ll live forever, live like you’ll die tonight.”

Maybe only mothers of adult children can fully appreciate the value of and the longing for this type of gathering—especially those for whom it’s a rare occurrence. A dozen things could still go wrong and some of them probably will. The juggle and struggle between our expectations and our disappointments can feel like a high-wire tightrope act, can’t it? As much as I want everybody present, happy to be there, getting along with each other, and returning home feeling loved and blessed and glad they came—it’s out of my hands. Seems like a lot to ask. Seems like high hopes.

I’ll keep you posted.

Saying Grace, Part 2 of 2

 

In my online query about mealtime prayers, my friend Amanda told me of a time she served her kids a quinoa-based meal which was met with gross faces and complaints. As a joke, she made up this prayer on the fly and she and her kids have been saying it at lunch ever since:

“Thank you, Jesus, for this food,
Help us be kind, and not be rude.
Thanks for hands that help us eat,
Whoever complains can kiss my feet.”

Don’t you love it?

I learned that ethnicity plays a big role in our mealtime prayers. Two friends, both from a Dutch background, said they prayed before and after a meal. Before they ate, they’d say, “Lord bless this food and drink for Jesus’ sake, amen.” After the meal, it was, “Lord thank you for this food and drink for Jesus’ sake, amen.”

One person shared with me a cartoon where a little boy is asking his friend if his family prays before they eat. The other kid answers, “No. We’re Ukrainian. My mom knows how to cook.”

Several friends from a Mennonite background told me that praying aloud was not something they were taught to do, only silent prayers. When at family gatherings at her grandparents’ home, they prayed before and after the meal, also in silence. Dorothy told me, “I asked my mom why and what would the prayer be? She didn’t know. I guess it was one of those things you just did and didn’t ask any questions.”

Speaking of asking questions, I watched a movie recently where a character recited a familiar prayer: “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful.”

I’ve certainly heard that one before, but now it made me wonder something. The prayer implies that God has to make us grateful, as though gratitude is not a response we can choose for ourselves. If that were true, why would scripture instruct us, “In everything, give thanks?” (I Thessalonians 5:18) Not all our prayers carry the best theology.

When my children were preschoolers, our church ran a program called “LIFT” where women came together for a morning of activities, study, and prayer while their children attended their own program. My kids and I loved participating, but they came home singing a new prayer that really raised my eyebrows at first. Have you heard it?

“Oh, the Lord is good to me. And so I thank the Lord; For giving me the things I need, the sun, and the rain, and the apple seed. The Lord is good to me.” The catchy tune made me smile, and I found no fault with the words. But where I’d been taught to pray in Jesus’ name, this prayer ended with, “Johnny Appleseed, Amen.”

I’m sure I gasped out loud the first time I heard the closer. What kind of heresy was this? I steered my children away from the “Johnny Appleseed” ending, though it was their favorite part. I was concerned the phrase would somehow offend God.

I wish I’d known then that God is not so easily offended. That he is far more concerned with the genuine condition of our hearts than by the precision of our words. That he basks in the songs of children. That he inhabits our praises, our gratitude, and our joy.

I think the most meaningful prayer sent my way came from Jocelyn who said it was often sung but sometimes spoken:

“For food in a world where many walk in hunger,
For faith in a world where many walk in fear,
For friends in a world where many walk alone,
We give you humble thanks, oh Lord.” 

To that I say, Amen!

What is your favorite meal-time prayer?

 

New and Glorious Morn

December 27th. It’s six-thirty in the morning and we’re saying goodbye to our Calgary kids who came for a whirlwind week of Christmas chaos. Toddlers lacking in routine but rich in sugar. Sweet moments of opening gifts, playing with toys, cuddling up to read stories, laughing at their cute expressions. Biting our tongues over temper tantrums and whining and the house turned upside down. They’ve become reacquainted with cousins, aunts and uncles—and even a great-grandmother the little one had never met. They’ve been taken to church, to the playground, and around the block.

Now it’s time to say goodbye. We squeeze the stuffing out of them and send them on their way, grateful for good traveling weather and praying for safety.

I take my coffee into the living room and sit staring at the tree, only partially lit due to a failed string of lights since some time Christmas Eve. In the stillness, I reflect on our time together. What just happened here?

I’d entered into it determined not to entertain impossible expectations—or any expectations at all. A group photo would have been nice, since it was our first time together in two years. But I knew better than to bank on it. We managed to collect all thirteen of us under the same roof for only two hours, during which the little ones slept.

I’d asked God to help me adopt a servant’s heart, to gladly make each day as good, each meal as tasty, each bed as comfortable, each event as convenient for others as it lay within me to do. How did I do, God?

He doesn’t answer.

All I know for sure is I’m exhausted. I drift off for a bit, wondering how to spend this day. Should I kick it into high gear, restore the house to order? Or should I lie around watching Christmas movies in my pajamas, polishing off the egg nog, fudge, and Chex mix? I could take advantage of the quiet, buckle down at my computer and hammer out some new columns or maybe even the first chapter of a new novel. Or perhaps I should give my sluggish ol’ body a head-start on 2020 by going for a brisk walk and drinking a gallon of water.

For now, I doze.

When I open my eyes again, the sun—which we have not seen for days—streams through my living room window. It laser-beams its radiance across the top of our mantle, brilliantly illuminating the nativity scene. In his creativity, kindness, and gentleness, God reminds me once again of what all the fuss was about. Or what it was supposed to be about.

In the end, I spend the day in moderation. Some laundry and puttering, a bit of writing, a short nap, a little fresh air and healthy food along with the leftover treats. My heart is at peace, because I know that whatever post-holiday feelings I might be sorting, the joys and disappointments, the not nearly enoughs and the much-too-much, God is always sufficient. The goals or dreams or worries I might have for the new year pale in light of the one true gift that is mine every day: God’s love, sent to us through a baby in a manger.