tis the season to be merry?

 Here today, in the northern hemisphere, it's the winter solstice. 

Few of us, perhaps, have noticed this. Here in Kentucky, we are out enjoying the sunshine, squeezing in some last minute shopping errands, savoring whatever bits of outdoor playground time we can grab, for tomorrow the weather will turn and we will be forced inside. And though few of us may have noticed, the shortest day of the year is upon us. The day with the least amount of sunshine. The middle of the darkest season. 

and for some of us, that feels just about right. 

This Christmas time feels strange and complicated for our family. Hoping to be move to Albania sometime in the spring or fall of next year, we are keenly aware that this will be our last Christmas stateside for awhile.  Everything feels super important this year. Middle is keeping track of how many of our Christmas traditions have not yet been accomplished. (Check Firehouse lights off the list as of last night. ;) ) 

Firehouse Lights in Lexington

Our Jesse Tree ornaments usually require significant motivation from Mom and Dad. But this year, the kids are making sure that we read every single story and if we miss a day, they will make sure we schedule a make up story either at breakfast or at bedtime. The ornaments on the tree had to be just so, the front porch had to be decorated and there was a significant family negotiation required to determine if the stockings should be hung in alphabetical order or in age order. Our kids are determined to make this last Christmas a best Christmas. 

But some things just aren't working out that way. 

Our kids wanted this to be the "hap hap happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap danced with Danny Kaye!" But instead, we have lost family members. Good friends are fighting for their lives. Best friends have moved away. And our big family Christmas party will be much smaller since the Flu and RSV and pregnancy complications that require bed rest and Nana and Papa needed elsewhere. 

Our "happy Christmastime" has become a mixture of joyful traditions and finding time and space to process grief. and that's a really hard thing. 

Lunch in Wilmore with friends from our organization who are also part of the European Region.
Not having to say good-bye, but instead saying "Maybe next year we could do this in Spain or Albania!" was such a relief. 

As I have thought through this Christmas, and as we are struggling to help our kids process these emotions, I have started to think that maybe processing both grief and joy at the same time is pretty appropriate for Christmas. 

I know that most of the classic carols are based on the stories from the Bible in Matthew and Luke: Silent Nights and Glory to God in the Highest and Joy to the World and Peace on Earth. But what about the stories from Isaiah and Jeremiah and Malachi? What about the 400 years between the testaments where God was silent? A few years ago as I was working through a Lent study for my high school girls, I spent some time pondering that "400 years of silence." And I wondered, was God silent because He needed a minute? In His sovereignty, did He know the depth of the sorrow that would be experienced on the cross when God the Father and God the Son would be separated? Did He, in His desire to be present with us, have a radical hope that His Chosen People would turn from their ways and take up their position as "blessed to be a blessing"?  When, once again God had to send another prophet to say "Listen, look! You're headed for disaster but there's a way out if you repent and follow me!" and, once again, His people "changed their glory for that which does not profit" (Jeremiah 2:11), was God like... 

"Look, I'm gonna need a minute. I just need to step outside for a few minutes to take some deep breaths. Don't worry, I'll be back. I always come back. But right now, you kids are driving me insane and I just need some space." 

Did God need 400 years of silence in order to process His deep grief at what had been lost and what was going to happen? 

If so, then God the Father faced the first Christmas with both a deep well of grief and a mountain top of joy. The angels sang "Glory to God in the Highest" at the same time that God the Son "emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant." (Luke 2:14, Phil. 2:7)

So for those of you, like us, who are experiencing this season as a mixture of joy and grief, we drink a toast of hot cocoa to you on this the longest night of the year. We toast both your grief and your courage as you bravely get through each day of this "most wonderful time of the year." May our struggle to hold both grief and joy in our hearts be a picture of God the Father to the world around us.