“I just don’t want to be all holly jolly,” a friend told me. I nodded. I know the feeling well. It’s been three years since I felt genuine happiness at Christmas. My babies were getting bigger. They could finally take a turn holding a candle at the Christmas Eve service in my memories I see a little blond girl’s braids on the shoulders of her plaid Christmas dress while her earnest little eyes stare at her candle with wonder and fear. I felt hope wash over me like the word sparkling on my bracelet. We’d sung our way to church in the snowfall that night and all felt right. For that moment.
And since that season, we’ve had wave after wave crash down on us as a family and honestly, Christmas doesn’t come at very convenient times when life is hard. Or maybe it’s just that Christmas accentuates how very hard life feels at times because we feel pushed to be “holly jolly” and make everything perfect for our family and give generously to others out of our precious low store of resources. People expect us to smile and sing about our dreams coming true when dreams actually feel crushed at our feet.
How do you move through Christmas when you’re sad?
My mom died three weeks ago. I’ve barely been functioning on some levels, but on the other hand, since our family has lived in survival mode for more seasons than not in the past decade, I’m still standing. Some days, like yesterday, I changed out of cotton pj pants into cropped leggings to take the kids to school, then read a novel all day and changed into sweatpants before I went to the grocery store at five pm to get frozen pizza for supper. But some days, I’m still washing dishes and folding laundry. We’ve decorated and our house feels cozy and some days even clean.
I’ve been asking myself, how did I get here? How did I get to where I can walk through this intense grief with acceptance? How did I learn how to do the dishes when my heart is breaking and I’ve literally eaten my way through the entire kitchen that day?
Grace.
Grace comes through like a permission slip telling me I don’t have to do anything to be loved. Grace paves the way for tears and opens the door to joy. Many of the world’s messages about Christmas (and grief) are anti-grace. We tell our kids they have to be good for Santa Claus to bring them presents and ourselves that we have to be in the perfect Christmas spirit to make the season worthwhile.
Grace reminds us that while imperfect we are still both lovely and loved.
This morning as I folded the laundry left over from our trip two weeks ago, a few things slid into my mind. This is how I’m surviving a sad Christmas.
I let myself cry.
It’s okay if more tears than Christmas carols want to come out of our hearts this Christmas. This world is a tragic place and we all carry the weight of loss in our bodies and souls. So when I turn on a song and tears fill my eyes, I cry them. In fact, I’ve even made myself playlists of songs to listen so that I can let out the tears. It’s good to sit in our sorrow. Pretending we aren’t in pain doesn’t let us heal properly. Jesus came to heal our wounds. But if we hide them, he can’t.
I let myself see.
I’m practicing being present more than ever these days. Stopping to really listen to my son’s story. Standing at the kitchen window to enjoy at the sunrise when my daughter points it out. I’m mentally calling attention to where I am and what’s happening around me. “My feet feel cozy in my socks and the ground feels sturdy beneath me. The lights are beautiful on the tree. I’m safe in this moment.” I haven’t been taking as many photos in 2020 as I normally do, but I’ve been taking mental snapshots and trying, like Mary, Jesus’ mother, to treasure them in my heart. The way my five-year-old’s still-chubby fingers wrap around the cereal box. Really sinking into the hug my oldest offers me. The Spirit is with me in the present and he offers comfort in the right now. We can receive it when we choose to see it.
I let myself go.
There is a time and a place for everything. Sometimes it is acknowledging we made a poor choice on a Christmas present because the budget doesn’t really allow for it, but not beating ourselves up about it. Sometimes it’s for eating brownies with crushed candy canes on top and watching our oldest favorite Christmas movie. Sometimes it’s for changing back into our pjs after we get home from working or running errands. God doesn’t tell us we have to look a certain way. We’ve made that up ourselves. Under the weight of grief, finding rest and comfort where we can becomes crucial to survival.
I let myself be okay.
Sometimes when we’ve been sad, we can feel guilt when the joy comes. But here’s the deal, if we are grieving well, we will have space for the joy. Silencing the voice of shame and letting myself feel happy has become a practice of healing for me just as much as letting the tears flow. On the days when I have that spark of energy or joy, I do the Christmas thing and I let myself enjoy it. Grace surprises us with laughter after we cry our tears.
I give myself some grounding practices.
Last week my only goal one day was to compile a basket of all the things I’d like to do with my time. My knitting, journal, Bible, Advent book, pens and sketchbook. Now that sits near the couch by the Christmas tree and when I feel up to it, I can pull something out to do with my hands or mind. I love practicing Advent. So for December I plan to read and light my candle each day, both for myself and for the kids. These things ground me and help me focus on what is rather than letting myself only escape when the time feels heavy on my hands. But in grace I don’t feel bad at all when I’m only on Day 5 of my Advent reading on December 9th.
“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” John 1:14 NIV
This is Christmas. Under the heart of it all, we celebrate Jesus coming to live with us. We remember and honor his incarnation and rest in his grace and truth. We hold sorrow and rejoicing in both hands and wait for the day of peace while walking today in his upside-down kingdom where letting ourselves mourn brings the blessing of his comfort.