Hope and Healing for the Holidays

Eggs, our tabby cat, began her morning prowl, undone by the presence of a baby in the house. Throw in the unpacked boxes of ornaments and a very tall tree and her life felt upended. Much like mine.

For even with pumpkin spice coffee to wake my frame, added excitement recently threw my normal routine. Thus, my week-long absence.

Last Friday night, I spoke at a Christmas banquet in the church where I grew up. Surrounded by familiar faces, I shared the Christmas story from a new perspective. One I spent weeks studying and thinking about—and one I look forward to sharing in upcoming December posts. 

However, as I typed copious theological reflections, I descended into a wardrobe crisis. My new shoe limitations left me unsure of how to dress for the big event. The AFO’s help tremendously but require lace up shoes, of which I only owned one pair. 

The forced style change led to insecurity, and at first, I felt materialistic for caring. But then I realized I can’t even wear my favorite pair of boot cut jeans with the braces. 

And as I searched for online shoe options, I ran across an article that offered style tips for AFO wearers. Encouraged that others felt odd too, I whispered kind words to my soul and went shopping.

Deep in the aisles of DSW, I learned that tennis shoes have become high fashion. A cranberry pair I found for 30% off matched a vest I found for 60% off. Together, they accented a beige top and black leggings I already owned. 

With my new outfit and eight pages of notes, I shared my heart with confidence. 

But after studying, shopping, and speaking, my brain went numb for a few days. Then, after recovering, I learned that schedules collided in such a way that my kids and grandson would be able to spend two nights in my home where I even hosted the turkey dinner—with photographic proof.

This morning I sit in a quiet home, thankful for sweet memories from the last two weeks. However, if I’m honest, even in the midst of all that was good, I battled a twinge of sad. Blended family needs often demand that Don and I spend holidays apart, and this Thanksgiving was no different. 

My sister suggested that the presence of a new baby may also be bringing back memories of my boy’s father. Watching Sam cradle his newborn certainly invokes images of when his dad did the same.

Yet my own sense of loss might've simply been heightened by recent events. A high school classmate lost her life to pneumonia last weekend about the same time a sweet, local mom lost her young daughter to mitochondrial disease. At least one funeral took place this week.

And then there's Lora Jones, a sweet woman I met at a conference last May and now call friend. Fourteen years ago, she lost her husband, son, and daughter due to a tragic car accident two days before Thanksgiving. As she drove out of town to spend time with extended family this year, she stopped by the cemetery. There in the early hours, her niece, Emily, snapped this photo I call, "Hope."

As I wondered how to bring these thoughts to a close, I read a Facebook post by Susan Douglass, a fellow mitochondrial disease warrior. Susan lost her biological and adopted fathers within two months this year, all while battling very serious medical issues herself. Earlier today she shared:

"I wanted so much to be 'present and in the moment' for my hubby... I cried each day up to the holiday and am crying as I type this. Grief is a journey that is unpredictable; it's tears come at times least expected... (But) it was as if when my mind went to my fathers, the Lord would make me mindful of the huge losses in our community and those of others. I would utter a silent prayer for comfort. My grief is dwarfed by others. It is perhaps that 'other' mindedness that was the lesson of the day and should be daily. As I sit here feeling that deep sadness I am going to purpose in my heart to enlarge it to include many others. Perhaps it is a call to prayer for the hearts of so many. Perhaps it is a call of intercession."

Our individual griefs are real. Our sorrows heavy. But when we "purpose to enlarge (them) to include many others," we are transformed. Perhaps it simply helps to remember that we aren't alone, that many cry out in despair.

So as the holiday season begins, let's purpose to intercede for one another. To pray for hope and healing as we celebrate the light that still shines in the darkness.