Holidays can be hard. Sadly, I think it is especially true for Christmas. Most other holidays are one day. Thanksgiving tops out at a week, if you're lucky. But somewhere along the way, we decided we should go the whole donkey ride with Mary. Some sort of weird, sympathetic labor pain experience, I suppose. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas. I love the sacred story of the birth of Christ, right up to the fruitcake (no hate mail, we all have something). Some Christmases have come and gone, nothing short of magical. But others are frankly, drug out and disappointing. I hate to say that out loud, because there's always a candidate for modern sainthood waiting to remind you that there are starving children in the world. And it makes me mad, because they would be right.
But here's the deal, we are human. And the human experience is fraught with emotion. It's dynamic. And it can be deep. And for all of us, there's a backstory that serves as the prologue for our current chapter. It is easy to peek in on a life, starting with today's page, and surmise that there is absolutely no reason that someone else shouldn't be perfectly happy and content where their bookmark lay, based on the setting, the current characters, and a snippet of plot. But would you conclude the same if I told you that you began their story on page 103 and that pages 1-102 remained unread?
If I'm being totally transparent, a non-traditional childhood family birthed in me a deep desire to have what I envisioned as a traditional all-American family experience, especially at Christmas. But most of my visions rely on other people and if I have learned anything in my 40 years, relying on other people isn't a foolproof plan. Nonetheless, our hearts have desires. We hope for things, we miss family and friends that are either no longer with us, are too far away, or have a different vision for their own holiday. For some of us, family and memories can bring tremendous joy. For others family can remind us of a painful past, an unnavigable present, or it can all simply break our heart.
Another thing I have learned is that we must allow ourselves to feel. Even if it's painful. Even if it's Christmas. For years, I blocked out and stuffed. I didn't feel, because it was too costly on the present time to unpack emotion - especially the real big feelings. But as I have grown, I have learned that not unpacking them is costly not just on the present, but on the future as well. Tonight, I was so burdened by the things on my heart that I just walked our dog up and down our fog-filled street and cried. The warmth and fog only accentuated my feelings of despair. But then I came to a place where the street lamps had burned out, the fog lifted, and I was surrounded by near darkness. I looked up and saw beautiful, bright stars. The little dipper and all his closest friends, for exact detail.
It is true that the light feels safe and secure, and reveals everything in obvious immediacy - that going into the darkness makes us anxious and afraid. But only in the dark, could I see the beauty and magic of the tiniest dots of glimmering light. Whether strung together in a sensible pattern, like the constellations, or just tossed about randomly like most of the good things in my life, their near invisibility to my eyes made it no less grand when they came into full view. In fact, those little points of light were more magnificent because of their placement in the dark. Our life can be this way. Sometimes, we must go into the darkest places to be reminded of the life-altering magnificence of the smallest light. Light with the most significance. One long-suffering friend to hold your hand and listen. One ornament attached to a beautiful memory. One photograph of a Christmas that was better. All little points of beautiful light. Almost extinguished by darkness. Almost.
If your emotions are heavy this Christmas, know that you are not alone, regardless of what social media may have you believe. Don't block out and stuff your emotions. Don't feel guilty for feeling the way you do. From a person who has many times walked through the fog of life's confusion and uncertainty, know this promise - although you may not see it, the light is still there. You may walk through fog and you may be enveloped by darkness. But just keep moving forward. Keep walking. Keep looking up. Eventually the fog will lift. And if you look with intention, you will see them. You will see tiny points of light. They may not line up to create an image that makes any sense, or one that you want to see, but some of the brightest ones are scattered randomly. And almost all shining alone.
If you have already been walking for a very long time, weighted by the fog, enveloped by the darkness, the best gift and New Year's resolution you can give yourself is one of transparency. Reach out to a trusted friend or family member, but keep your expectations low. Sometimes friends and family are not equipped to respond the way you need. Then call for professional help. Ask friends or acquaintances for counseling recommendations. You might be surprised at how many people have either been to a psychiatrist and counselor, or are also looking for one for themselves or a family member. You may be worried about saying something for fear of being judged, but I'm always relieved when that happens. It's like God's way of quickly highlighting the people I don't need in my life. Those few instances are always overshadowed by the few deep, intimate connections I create with people I trust, who sincerely want the best for my life. It can be a hard, laborious task to unpack those big feelings, but the catharsis that is possible is like the very breath of life itself.
Wishing you joy and all the wonder of the holidays may be unrealistic, so instead I wish for you one dim, tiny point of light. Because I know with the gift of that, you will eventually see so many more.
But here's the deal, we are human. And the human experience is fraught with emotion. It's dynamic. And it can be deep. And for all of us, there's a backstory that serves as the prologue for our current chapter. It is easy to peek in on a life, starting with today's page, and surmise that there is absolutely no reason that someone else shouldn't be perfectly happy and content where their bookmark lay, based on the setting, the current characters, and a snippet of plot. But would you conclude the same if I told you that you began their story on page 103 and that pages 1-102 remained unread?
If I'm being totally transparent, a non-traditional childhood family birthed in me a deep desire to have what I envisioned as a traditional all-American family experience, especially at Christmas. But most of my visions rely on other people and if I have learned anything in my 40 years, relying on other people isn't a foolproof plan. Nonetheless, our hearts have desires. We hope for things, we miss family and friends that are either no longer with us, are too far away, or have a different vision for their own holiday. For some of us, family and memories can bring tremendous joy. For others family can remind us of a painful past, an unnavigable present, or it can all simply break our heart.
Another thing I have learned is that we must allow ourselves to feel. Even if it's painful. Even if it's Christmas. For years, I blocked out and stuffed. I didn't feel, because it was too costly on the present time to unpack emotion - especially the real big feelings. But as I have grown, I have learned that not unpacking them is costly not just on the present, but on the future as well. Tonight, I was so burdened by the things on my heart that I just walked our dog up and down our fog-filled street and cried. The warmth and fog only accentuated my feelings of despair. But then I came to a place where the street lamps had burned out, the fog lifted, and I was surrounded by near darkness. I looked up and saw beautiful, bright stars. The little dipper and all his closest friends, for exact detail.
It is true that the light feels safe and secure, and reveals everything in obvious immediacy - that going into the darkness makes us anxious and afraid. But only in the dark, could I see the beauty and magic of the tiniest dots of glimmering light. Whether strung together in a sensible pattern, like the constellations, or just tossed about randomly like most of the good things in my life, their near invisibility to my eyes made it no less grand when they came into full view. In fact, those little points of light were more magnificent because of their placement in the dark. Our life can be this way. Sometimes, we must go into the darkest places to be reminded of the life-altering magnificence of the smallest light. Light with the most significance. One long-suffering friend to hold your hand and listen. One ornament attached to a beautiful memory. One photograph of a Christmas that was better. All little points of beautiful light. Almost extinguished by darkness. Almost.
If your emotions are heavy this Christmas, know that you are not alone, regardless of what social media may have you believe. Don't block out and stuff your emotions. Don't feel guilty for feeling the way you do. From a person who has many times walked through the fog of life's confusion and uncertainty, know this promise - although you may not see it, the light is still there. You may walk through fog and you may be enveloped by darkness. But just keep moving forward. Keep walking. Keep looking up. Eventually the fog will lift. And if you look with intention, you will see them. You will see tiny points of light. They may not line up to create an image that makes any sense, or one that you want to see, but some of the brightest ones are scattered randomly. And almost all shining alone.
If you have already been walking for a very long time, weighted by the fog, enveloped by the darkness, the best gift and New Year's resolution you can give yourself is one of transparency. Reach out to a trusted friend or family member, but keep your expectations low. Sometimes friends and family are not equipped to respond the way you need. Then call for professional help. Ask friends or acquaintances for counseling recommendations. You might be surprised at how many people have either been to a psychiatrist and counselor, or are also looking for one for themselves or a family member. You may be worried about saying something for fear of being judged, but I'm always relieved when that happens. It's like God's way of quickly highlighting the people I don't need in my life. Those few instances are always overshadowed by the few deep, intimate connections I create with people I trust, who sincerely want the best for my life. It can be a hard, laborious task to unpack those big feelings, but the catharsis that is possible is like the very breath of life itself.
Wishing you joy and all the wonder of the holidays may be unrealistic, so instead I wish for you one dim, tiny point of light. Because I know with the gift of that, you will eventually see so many more.
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