Comfort in Dismay

Usually, I love them.

They start immediately after Thanksgiving pie, once it's officially Christmastime. 

But, all the upbeat Christmas songs feel like sandpaper on my skin this year. Not the hymns, not the traditional carols. But the holly jolly, ho-ho-ho, jingle bell-y ones I simply can't enjoy. Grandma got run over, Rudolph, Frosty, Santa Baby. (Don't get me started on the romantic Christmas songs. Serious ouch.)

There's nothing wrong with those songs. There's nothing wrong with the magical, much-anticipated traditions of Christmas, little children jingling bells, hair combed carefully, wearing patent leather shoes and their dressiest clothes for the Christmas concert.

I have little ones. We will be visiting the real Santa Claus at his beach house nearby soon. Our Elf-on-the-shelf is still doing his thing this year. 

It's not that.

It's just hard to enter into the lighthearted, hot cocoa, peppermint stick, twinkle-lights kind of magic of Christmas now.

Not this year.

What do you do with suffering and grief at Christmastime? How do we reconcile threat, danger, heartbreak, disaster, abandonment, trauma, betrayal, loss, fear, devastation, and broken relationships with Christmas? What about war, famine, disease, murder, the slaughter of little children and those trying to protect them in Connecticut? Unthinkable pain! Unimaginable grief!


How valuable, imperative really, are those friends who are able to share the agony, to share our weeping with us, to walk with us through suffering? Grief shared brings such comfort. Aren't you drawn towards that friend who can ease and calm and selflessly help, for the friend who knows when to talk and when to be silent, who groans with you.

And that is what Jesus came to bring. Comfort. Emmanuel. God with us.

This year, I'm hearing the lyrics of the great carols as if for the first time.

Long lay the world
In sin and error pining
Til HE appeared
And the soul felt its worth

My cousin reminded me about the comma placement in "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen." She said, "This carol is not talking to merry gentlemen. Quite the reverse, in fact. This hymn is tidings (news) of comfort and joy to those who are in dismay. 'Remember, Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day to save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray.' True celebration of Christmas doesn't ignore evil in the world; it acknowledges that our world is in such a state that only a child born to us who can rightly be called Mighty God can give light to those walking in darkness." (M. H. Price)

Christ came to enter into our suffering, to be with us, to share in our trials, and to endure humiliation, rejection, judgment, scorn, threat, and a terrible death meant to shame and destroy Him, and all to redeem us from our sin bringing us comfort and JOY!

What LOVE! 

Yesterday was our 22nd anniversary. The first non-iversary. I feel like a widow. Grieving. Exhausted. Fearful. As well as rejected. Shamed. Abandoned. And yet, the Lord Jesus is here. Near. Bringing comfort. Emmanuel. God with me. 

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted

And saves those who are crushed in spirit."

Ps 34.18

"O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! 

Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

"Come, Thou long expected Jesus

Born to set Thy people free

From our fears and sins release us

Let us find our rest in Thee."

"Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask Thee to stay

Close by me forever, and love me, I pray.

Bless all the dear children in Thy tender care,

And fit us for Heaven, to live with Thee there."

Disjointed Thoughts In Green Pastures

"Well, I'm gonna get out of bed every morning... breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out... 

and, then after a while, I won't have to think about how I had it great and perfect for a while."

~Sam, Sleepless In Seattle

OK, so I never had it great and perfect like Sam and Maggie Baldwin (Who does?), but there were a lot of great and perfect memories over the years, and there were so very many more great and perfect hopes and promises. The losses of this year, the complete demolishment of all of those hopes and promises have left me raw and reeling. Still. And wishing that weren't the case... feeling that I am somehow failing at this... wishing I were stronger... cried less... weren't so weak. 

There are "up" days. Joy. Truly happy times with my friends and children. And such wonderful, tender comfort from the Lord. 

But, I've needed a lot rest during this season. I'm discovering the worship within grief and the thanksgiving within weakness.

The Lord is my shepherd, 
I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures
He leadeth me beside quiet waters
He restoreth my soul
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His Name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, 
I will fear no evil
For Thou art with me
Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies
Thou anointest my head with oil
My cup runneth over
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
~Psalm 23

"He makes me lie down in green pastures"... Why does He have to make me? What is it that makes us (well, I'm speaking for myself here) feel like we should be able to be dealt crises or disaster and get right on up and continue in our efficiency?

We're not supposed to do that. We don't expect someone who just lost a child to cancer to be out hanging the Christmas lights the next day. We aren't shocked when a new widow doesn't immediately host the girl scouts potluck. We're not stunned if our friend who just found out her husband has had a lover for years isn't simultaneously meal planning, coupon clipping, and shopping at Trader Joe's while preparing to teach the women's Bible study.

That would alarm us, right? Like, "Oh, sweetie, you need to sit down and let me take care of you now - I insist, honey" kind of alarm. So, why feel frustrated that I'm aching, disoriented, and painfully aware of every bone and sinew like someone who just woke up in the hospital after a car crash?

This is the ICU. This place. Right here. Right now.


The note on my bedside table says:

Get out of bed.
Get in the Word.
Take a shower.
Eat real food.
Exercise.
Do something for someone else.
Laugh.
Go to bed at a decent hour.

I need this note because otherwise I'd just walk into walls. 

My son will not see me. My son. My heart walking around outside my body. He won't speak to me. And so, this is a season of walking into walls.

"A time to weep and a time to laugh

A time to mourn and a time to dance."

Ecclesiastes 3.4

So, why does God have to hog-tie us to get us to lie down in green pastures for Heaven's sake? 

One of the toughest things about a little time going by is that more and more people know. And more friends have been entrusted with a few details to pray with me and for our family. But, sometimes talking about things that up until now have been between me, God, and a very select group of prayer warriors opens up a can of... train wreck.

(By the way, if you really, really need a good old fashioned cryfest, please and by all means you have my blessing to watch "Beaches", "Steel Magnolias", "Marley & Me", or "The Champ", but never, ever, and I mean, never watch "The Way We Were" if you're in the middle of separation or divorce. Trust me.)

Anyway, right now I'm called to rest. Not to try to make too much of each day or accomplish too much. Just walk with God. Bring Him my prayers with thanksgiving for His goodness and mercy. Let Him tend to my heart.

Just breathe in and out all day long. 

"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."

Psalm 147.3