It's late and I should be in bed, but there seems to be a build-up of thoughts and feelings lately that have corroded my sleeping habits. So, I gently laid a kiss on Marc's cheek and rolled myself back out to the Christmas tree with it's welcoming, white glow.
I've always loved the peacefulness of the Christmas tree. Right now ours just has the lights on it. We haven't pulled any of the other decorations out yet. It's been a slow start this year. Just as we were warned, the holidays have added a new layer of difficulty.
There are the obvious reasons - mainly, the dreams we had of how Thanksgiving and Christmas would be with our twins. We had so many dreams... and really, we still do. But, for now we're sitting in front of our Christmas tree listening to Bing Crosby and Perry Como, eating apple pie, watching movies like Holiday Inn - and while I'm so grateful, especially for the "we" part, it's still more than a bummer that we don't have two little bundles of joy to distract us. We got the tree up too fast, we're sleeping in too late, and have way too much quiet time. I know for many people that probably sounds like a dream come true... but, I've never felt so sad to have such a quiet house. It's definitely harder than I expected it to be.
But, there is another aspect of the holidays being hard that I hadn't anticipated. There are so many distractions that leave me feeling agitated... strangely enough, they are the same distractions that usually make me excited about the holidays. Searching out the most perfect gifts, getting out all the decorations, wrestling my way through the crowded stores (okay, you're right, I don't get excited about that one)... but, really, usually there is an excitement that comes with doing all the normal traditions of Christmas.
I guess a lot of it is that I've become so aware of how tainted my own view of Christmas has been, and still is. As much as I want to think that in past years I celebrated Christmas for the right reasons and with the right spirit, I'm realizing this year that it's a completely different experience. Because our life isn't normal anymore, none of the usual things seem normal either.
Laying in my hospital bed on the night of July 16th, holding my two daughters within minutes of being born, in awe of their perfection, my heart was tender, but at peace. Panic didn't exist in that moment (though, naturally, it was there in the moments prior and has come multiple times since). Instead, on that mid-summer night, I found my thoughts urgently turning to another night in another place and time, when another baby was born. For possibly the first time in my life, the story of the birth of Christ really mattered to me on a very personal level. It became so much more than just a nice story. Even though I had always tried to make Him a personal part of my life, it always felt a little too abstract or something.
There's nothing like death to force you from abstract to reality. All of a sudden, there we were saying good-bye to Elliana and Emmaline. It was different than saying good-bye to grandparents. Maybe that's because in my mind I had always figured that if for some reason there really wasn't a heaven, then I could feel satisfied that after 90-something years, at least they had lived a good, long life. But, in this case, I needed to know like I never had before that it was all true. Those stories of the Carpenter of Galilee - were they just a fairytale, or possibly exaggerated history from 2000 years ago? Did Jesus really do what He said He would do? And, did it really extend to the whole human race, including our precious girls? Did he overcome death for them? Would we really see them again? Are they really ours forever?
In what should have been a moment of sheer terror and panic, there was the strongest assurance that filled our hearts that it was all true. Our experience in the hospital with our daughters is so sacred to us that I won't get into the details here, but the feelings that dominated were ones of gratitude for the Son of God, the Savior of the world. His birth, His life, His death, His victory over the tomb... all of it mattered more than it ever had before. It wasn't abstract anymore. This was real.
It mattered that Jesus was born, that He lived a perfect life, that He willingly laid down His life, that He victoriously raised Himself up again. It matters because through Him I have hope of dreams yet to be fulfilled in this life and in the next, and an indescribably joyful reunion to look forward to.
Since July I've been learning over and over again - He is real. His peace, His healing, His comfort. It is all so real. And, even though He has always been just as real, His reality is so much stronger in our hearts than it ever has been before.
For that reason... this Christmas is different. And, I'm honestly hoping the change will last.
