Beholding Our Christmas Eve-Eve, and Eve: Calm and Bright

I made a promise to myself: the next post WILL be uplifting.  It WILL make me smile.  It WILL make YOU smile—so at the very least please humor me…

I stayed in bed on Christmas morning.  Like, for a long time stayed in bed; silent tears falling into my pillow.  Like maybe if I stayed there and avoided the presents and the kitchen to be cleaned, breakfast to be made that maybe, JUST MAYBE, I could hold on to my last Christmas with my dad a little longer.  That MAYBE THAT would be the one that would stay ingrained in my memories… but each silent tear left a little more salt on my face burning a little deeper the pain of my first Christmas without my Dad… EVER.

We sat in church on Saturday night…. The whole time (through a sermon about anxiety!!) I kept thinking “the last time I was here; my dad was here too…”  But he wasn’t.  I stood there singing such praises to my God, the one who really has him (and me too, I guess), and the bottomless pain feeling so profoundly deep was covered by this multitude of peace.  My dad- singing divine praises with the heavenly hosts at the celebration of the coming of our King…and I just sat there with that…and the silent tears.

After the service, a very loved and sweet, sweet friend so brutally but ever so gracefully warned me, “tomorrow morning is going to be hard…”  I followed that conversation with others asking how I was doing; “Is that your dad’s ring”  (because I’m wearing it like a new appendage taking his eternal love with me wherever I go…) And they were sweet conversations.  Ones that I was actually enjoying.  I’ve been avoiding everyone.  LITERALLY everyone.  I’ll be honest that I’ve seen names on my phone and very guiltlessly ignored such kindness and concern because I just don’t want to face the discussions that “it’s going to be okay” and “I’m praying for you” and “I hear you.”  I’m held in such special places by so many people.  Something that just like my dad, I’m humbled and moved even sitting here thinking about…

So on Christmas morning, as I laid in my salty puddle, scrolling through my phone (because what else am I going to do on the hundredth hour of my grief, I looked through my ignorance to your love.

I laid BEHOLDING the strength that so many are giving me to rise.  And by rise, I mean literally rise.  Rising to a kitchen that my husband already cleaned, to a letter that though wasn’t from my dad, was still on the tree, to a family who has embraced me in my little land of messy and plenty knolls of illness, and lastly but most importantly, a mom who needs me as much as I need her.

And so I replayed some of these precious moments from the days before in this season of healing, beholding the goodness that’s bringing me through this…

my super sweet husband loving on my goddaughter.  btw- mistletoeing makes every.thing. better!

and puppy snuggles…

and card games with these kiddies that are patching the little infertile tears in my heart.

p.s. rice crispy treats make everything a little sweeter.

and just so you know, Mama M.E. is still smiling…

and even laughing…

Christmas mornings feel better when you hear the laughs of children…

and just a little word to the WISE (wait for the pun…) I have a husband who chose to have his wisdom teeth (there it is) removed two days before Christmas therefore enjoying a puréed cinnamon roll… don’t let the men do that.  Just… DON’T. 

I’m BEHOLDING Christmas eve’s that still have wine, and football, and little boys fighting over iPads.

and especially beholding Christmas Eve’s where all actually does happen to be calm and bright.