My Christmas was so perfect, I can't even tell you how good it was.
It was SO perfect for me. SO glorious. SO everything good.
I haven't fully breathed for two months.
I've been sustained by half-breaths, really.
Going through my days and weeks and months
with lots of demands on my time and skills,
keeping distracted from the undercurrent of uncertainty
in our lives.
I do that. When times are rough and circumstances beyond my control,
I tell my self,
"Self, keep going. You can't just stop. Keep moving. Do what you can and trust in God's love for you."
So, that's what I've been doing.
My undercurrent of uncertainty was the result of two unrelated situations:
Kent's unemployment for six months, and Dean's upcoming surgery to remove, what I was told,
a cyst on his brain.
On top of finishing up the semester in school,
and an 80 hour internship
I planned a funeral for my son.
I made a list of people whom I would call,
in case Dean didn't make it through surgery.
My list was five people whom I knew would drop everything,
and come to my aid should I need it.
Coincidentally, it is these same five people who've been at my side
on this journey of unemployment too.
These same five people who call me or show up regularly
to check on us.
It's been an awakening of sorts--
to look around in the midst of trials and realize
who one's friends truly are.
And like I've heard said before,
it's in times of trouble that you discover who your true friends are.
It's true.
My Christmas was wonderful.
Not because of gifts or packages.
Because Kent was offered a job
and
Dean didn't need the surgery at this time--
and it's not as serious as I was told by his HHP.
Such relief.
The down-on-my-knees-so-grateful relief.
There are a thousand feelings,
a thousand more words
to share
the grasp of which still floating in the heavens.
What is the blessing of being unemployed at Christmas time?
Well, my teenagers were more gracious in giving and receiving gifts.
This is a Christmas they won't forget.
I hope they remember it well, I do.
Christmas of 2016.
May every Christmas from here on out,
be compared to this one.
This lean one.
This "we'll celebrate anyway" one.
The one where they were mindful of the cost of things,
and the value of contributing a cheerful mood to the overall good.
The one where gifts were "extra" because they weren't expected.
The one where we delivered filled Christmas stockings
to the foster children's advocacy organization,
that my friends filled this year again.
The one where we picked up furniture,
painted it,
and took it back to a friend whose husband has Stage IV cancer,
and she wants their bedroom to be a haven for his resting days.
The one where we delivered a poinsettia to an elderly man who cares for his wife
who is lost in the world of Alzheimers'.
I wanted my teens to learn that even in lean times,
we can serve others.
I will remember this one
as the one I held my son in my arms and thanked him for staying with us
another year.
He makes me a better person every day that he's here.
He believes in Santa more than anyone I've ever met;
that's magical to me.
I will remember this one because the tremblings of my heart were calmed
by love and tender mercies of my Heavenly Father.
This year, for the first time in a decade, our family was invited to a Christmas party
where we went carolling afterwards--it was so perfectly timed.
We needed that invitation on the eve of what was to be Dean's surgery.
It was calming and hopeful.
I will remember this one because others were fasting and praying for our son
and their faith lifted my own.
"All is calm, All is bright."
That's how this Christmas went down
and that's how I will remember it.
A White Christmas.
A glowing, beautiful, tender mercy-filled, white Christmas.
