The Mother

Tis the night before Christmas.

As a child, even in the toughest of times, when the only thing certain was the uncertainty, this night was filled with excitement. I never believed in Santa, but there was something magical about the anticipation on this night. 

Every year on Christmas morning, we read Luke chapter 2, the account of Christ's birth. When young, I could identify with the worship and joy of the shepherds. I gloried in the songs we sing at this time of year, imagining myself as the little drummer boy, a king from orient, an angel on high. Happiness was the Christmas spirit for me for many years. 

Today, this Christmas Eve, I feel my joy tinged heavily with sorrow, even as the first Christmas must have been.

As a young, Jewish girl, Mary must have known of the Messiah who had been prophesied for thousands of years. When the Angel Gabriel announced she would be His mother, I wonder if, like any newly pregnant woman, she was filled with not only the normal worry that comes with the territory, but the additional shock and awe that would come with bearing the Savior of man. 

I've had three children, and with each one the pain of child birth was severe, but the moment they were born, there was ceaseless joy. She must have felt that, but how soon did she begin to think of the inevitable moment: her sweet, innocent baby boy would die a gruesome and merciless death on the cross. 

Joy tinged with sorrow. Maybe tinged is an understatement. Joy inundated with sorrow. 

With the anticipation of gifts and festivities on Christmas I also find myself in dread of the day after tomorrow. Because of the divorce, my own babies will be splitting the holiday time with their father. He will have them for eight days. 

I've never been away from any one of them for that length of time.

It's on a small scale, I know, but this year I identify with the Mother, who must have been afraid and chose to trust anyway. Who must have been heartbroken in the midst of her happiness. She must have held her baby tighter, pondering the eventualities in her heart. I know tonight I held my own, and let tears fall. 

It's only eight days. It's only forever.

Winter Nights

My worry is like a shadow. At times it is before me, at times it is behind me, but it never leaves me.

The sun shines brightly on my life, the blessings the light brings reflect off the golden hair of my children, brilliant rays that bring peace and clarity. The shadow is behind me, distant and small.

Yet, some days there is a cloud, some days the darkness looms, some days I cannot break free of its shade. Larger than life, it grows to blot out the sun. I cling to the truths I know: the sun still shines, I just can't see it.

In those moments, let me cling to you. No words will dispel the dark, but let me feel your strength when I can't summon mine.

Don't say what I know, that all will be well, that all is for a reason, that all works for good. These mantras play in my head, and yet they cannot always be a flame in the cold abyss. But if I could rest in your arms, and dream in your love, the shadow becomes a solace; only with you.

Please be still. Please be silent. Please show me what I can't see for myself.

Just in this moment. Just for a little while.