Things Were Going to be Different

2016 was going to be different.

The last number of years, the weeks before Christmas had been a whirlwind. Shopping. Decorating. Baking. Stress. Anxiety. Worry. That isn't what these weeks are supposed to be about.

2016 was going to be different.

Back in October, I began mentally preparing what would help to make the year end run more smoothly and allow for more time to just be, just breathe, just pray, just be.

2016 was going to be different.

The 1st of November I got a call from my dad. He wanted me to go to his house. I watch my great-niece twice a week and that was a day I had her. He asked me to leave her home with my 22-year-old daughter. My mom suffered a stroke in 2013. It's always a concern when my dad asks me to come by the house. I went to the house and we called for an ambulance to bring her in to the hospital.

2016 was going to be different.

She was taken to the emergency room by ambulance. My dad drove himself. I ran home to make sure everyone was situated and then headed to the hospital. Things looked bleak. I was texting my siblings with each bit of new information. This was not like her other trips to the hospital since her stroke. Things were worrisome.

2016 was going to be different.

Finally, things were somewhat stabilized and my mom was in the intensive care unit. She had a breathing tube, which made it difficult for her to communicate. We didn't know what was going to happen. After a couple days, the tube was removed and she slowly, ever so slowly, began to improve.

2016 was going to be different.

Thanksgiving came. I made my mom's signature apple pie and my dad's famous stuffing. We gathered as a family, feeling somewhat lost without our matriarch and patriarch present at the table. Dinner was brought to mom and dad at the hospital.

2016 was going to be different.

Remarkably, mom was discharged in December and sent home. I thought we were going to lose her on All Soul's Day and instead she was brought back home as we were preparing to celebrate the birth of the Christ Child.

2016 was going to be different.

For months prior to Christmas, I was reflecting on what I needed to do differently so that advent and Christmas and Epiphany would be more calm and more prayerful and more joyous. I didn't want the stress and the worry and anxiety. Then we almost lost my mom. I wasn't able to make any of the changes I had planned on implementing.

2016 was different.

I let go. I prayed. I baked. I shopped (well, to be fair, my husband did a LOT of shopping in 2016). I listened to Christmas music. I wrapped gifts. I trusted that what we needed to have done would be done. I spent a large amount of time reflecting on my life and how the people in my life touch and change me. 2016 was nothing how I planned it to be and yet all I needed it to be.

2016 was different.

I've had the privilege of sitting and holding my mom's hand. At times she laughs. Other times she cries. She likes when I read prayers to her. She tells me she loves waking up and seeing my dad's face - that he makes her feel safe. Her challenges are many and her crosses are heavy to bear. 

2016 was different.

I've watched my dad care for my mom. I've seen him sit at her hospital bedside. He arrived early in the morning and left late at night. I heard him call her "lovie." I've watched him care for her at home. He makes her meals. He helps her get from room to room. I've never heard him complain. I've seen the worry in his eyes when she is ailing. I've seen the love in his eyes when he gazes at her. 

2017 is going to be different.

Last year I was caught in the usual "stuff," making a to-do list for how my Christmas season could flow smoothly and effortlessly. And then my mom went in the hospital and things changed. I was reminded to narrow my focus. Hold a hand. Look at someone. Hug a friend. Listen. See the person next to you. Really see them.

2017 is going to be different.

My parents have spent a lifetime teaching me important lessons. Yet the most important lesson they didn't even try to teach me. They just love each other. Just love. And it is all they need. So that is what I'm going to try to do in 2017. Just love. Maybe you'll join me. 


"I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another."  John 13:34

Where are You?

Growing up, this time of year was magical to me. The Advent wreath, the Christmas tree, the decorations, the Advent calendar, the ornaments, the smell of pine, the lights.  Baking, shopping, singing, watching Christmas movies. Snuggling in bed on Christmas Eve while butterflies were dancing in my heart making sleep nearly impossible.  I close my eyes and I can go right back to how I felt at that time.

On Christmas morn I used to wake bright and early with my siblings. Much, much earlier than my parents. We would whisper and talk and watch the clock to see when it would be ok to go down to wake our parents. We would sneak down the stairs to use the bathroom and peek into the family room to see if the stockings were full and the presents were under the tree. When the time came, we would run down the stairs, get our parents up and race to.... our nativity scene. We wanted to see if baby Jesus had come. Then we would tear over to the tree and into our presents.

As I've grown older, my love for this time of year is still there, but it isn't quite the same. Family relationships have changed - some growing stronger, others struggling. The world has picked up its pace. Stores start packing Christmas items on their shelves in October. Radio stations are playing Christmas music before Halloween! My nuclear family has changed: a husband, in-laws, and children are added to the mix. Am I able to keep up? Am I passing down the love and meaning of this season to my children?

Over the last few years I've found myself asking more and more, "Where are you?" Where are you, Jesus? Where are you, Christmas? It takes longer for the spirit of the season to fill my heart and lift me up. It takes longer for the lightness and laughter to penetrate the darkness. However, it does always seem to win out.

Maybe that is a good thing. The weeks before Christmas are a time of waiting, of preparation, of darkness. Christ, the true Light, comes on Christmas morn to fill our hearts with hope, with love.

I reflect on those Christmases of my childhood and they bring me great joy. My prayer is that my children will look back and have warm and happy memories of this time of year. I pray that my children will feel the wonder and awe that this season brings. I pray that our traditions remind them of the love we have for each other.

In the morning as I do my prayers I look over at the nativity scene waiting for Jesus to arrive on Christmas morn. Where are you, Jesus? Where are you, Christmas? Fill us with your music, with your love, with your hope, with your joy. Fill us with your magic. Fill our hearts so completely and beautifully that we always know where to find you in ourselves and in each other.

Let's Keep Christmas
Whatever else be lost among the years,
Let us keep Christmas still a shining thing;
Whatever doubts assial us, or what fears,
Let us hold close one day, remembering
It's poignant meaning for the hearts of men.
Let us get back our childlike faith again.
     Ada V. Hendricks


Faith Hill - Where Are You, Christmas?

Let