I reconnected with an old friend before Christmas. During lunch we caught-up, it had been a while. It was a slow, relaxing meal. We said our good-byes, and I headed to the ladies room. I felt sad. I can often avoid the reality of this season in my life – but after chatting freely about my struggles with an old friend, my spirits were low.
Are things really as bad as they sounded? Maybe it was recounting the events of the past year? Maybe it was her compassionate response? I’m not sure the reason, but the weight of my life was heavy on me.
In the background Christmas music had been softly playing, but now, walking alone down the hallway to the ladies room, it became suddenly louder. A blues tune introduction, then a single male voice,
“Have yourself … a merry little Christmas.”
His voice was slow and deliberate, as if addressing me directly. I paused to listen.
“Let your heart be light.”
Let; permission. No action, simply allowing. Not forcing, but not preventing.
“From now on, our troubles will be out of sight …”
Not gone, just not visible. Out of sight, perhaps out of mind, for a short while.
It spoke to me of accepting, but not focusing on, my troubles. Can I have peace for a bit? Can I put this heaviness aside? Can I make a choice to move into the lightness the singer called me to?
This is not denying my sadness or ignoring the depth of my pain. No, this is more about a choice. A purposeful movement within me, to turn my heart and attention to having a “merry little Christmas,” regardless of my circumstances.
Can I call for a cease-fire on my internal assaults about the way things are? Christmas is here, Christ has come into the world. There is hope in this, real hope – in the Incarnation. God became flesh and dwelt among us, not that he could know us, but that we could know him. To know he cares about us and that his life was full of great sorrow too.
God is faithful. He knows my needs; my real needs, that aren’t dictated by the latest trend or irrelevant “thing.” My need for love, and peace, and for the confidence that I will be okay. God will make provisions for these needs.
If I believe this, I must act like it. I still have some control in my life, even if it is only over my own attitude.
#Lent2016
#
Sometimes in the fall, when the afternoon sunlight is just right you can see the grain of the wood in the body on the large crucifix over the altar at church. I marvel at how the grain matches the pattern of the muscles it fills; concentric shadows and layers repeat the shape. I wonder at how the wood feels about being used for such a precious form; conveying the love of God to those who look upon the image.
