Picked up a random poetry book From the crowded shelf. Quick easy hour read: Delight and wonder. Then, Found…
Facing the Season with Hope
{Here is a post I neglected to post during the Christmas season.]
Today, during our church’s first Sunday in Advent service, my family took part in lighting the first candle of Hope. I stood by my daughters, sister, and parents before the congregation reading about how God is sending His only son to save us all. Jesus is our hope, our light in the darkness.
As much as I believe in the Nativity and Jesus’ resurrection, I feel somewhat disillusioned this year. Between money problems and the recent, unexpected death of my cousin, the joy of the season cannot seem to touch my heart.
This afternoon, I watched my daughter take charge of decorating our house for Christmas. Watching her gleefully try to decide where to put the snowman and the teddy bears, the nativity, the stars, brought back memories from my old childhood. I would get so excited to help my mom decorate our house for Christmas. She always had a specific way she wanted things to look so I would remember to put the blue snowman decor in the bathroom and the Santas around the fireplace mantle. The angels went in the kitchen and the ceramic carolers mom had once painted went one the dining table around a garland wreath. There was a place for everything.
As giddy with joy as I felt each year to help decorate, I was even more excited for our Christmas morning traditions. Finding the pajamas from Santa on the end of my bed, waiting till Mom was ready with the camera before walking down the hall with my sister to see what Santa had left for us under the tree, and eating mom’s breakfast casserole as I waited my turn to open presents. These are the joyful memories I still hold dear.
Now with my daughters, I want to feel that joy again. Perhaps years of struggle with my husband and trying to respect his non-Christian views have tampered with my happiness. Perhaps the memory of loved ones no longer with us has brought an umbrella of grief hovering over me. Perhaps my expectations for a perfect Christmas season were too high during my childhood that now every new year seems like a let down; I will never be that young girl in my parents’ house again since I am forty and have my own family, my own house.
Where is the hope and the joy?
Then I look at my daughters’ faces as they smile affectionately at me opening their presents on Christmas morning. They are happy. My hope lies in knowing they stay happy. My hope lies in knowing their happiness depends on my choices and reactions. I am grateful to have God in our hearts helping us to discern the hope and the heartache, the joy and the grief, the love and the friendship.