Merry Christmas, Little Girl!
I’ve always loved Christmas. As both a kid and an adult, Christmas
has always filled me with deep wonder. In that wonder lies as much stress and
uncertainty as happiness and comfort.
In youth, the mystical powers of Santa consumed my thoughts. After
all, he knows everything. As a five-year-old with an impressive rap sheet, the
concept of everything inspired a few more than a few sleepless nights. I
hadn’t really meant to tease Amber on the bus ride to school, had I? And, I’m
pretty sure that my little sister started the fight that landed me in timeout
without trial or jury. Surely letting the word stupid loose from my lips
was a transgression that Santa could overlook, right? As much as the magic of
flying reindeer and a secret workshop full of elves and toys tickled my
imagination, the threat that Santa might find it in his judgment to judge me naughty—and
not nice—tormented my conscience.
And, I must admit that I am indoctrinating your sister with the
same dichotomy. I don’t really think it’s by design so much as it is for my own
amusement. Yet, perhaps there is method in the madness.
In this season of unequivocal joy, we celebrate the actors who
played out the beauty of the nativity. I wonder if the actors felt unequivocal
joy in the unfolding of the story.
I imagine Mary as a young girl. She is devout in her faith and she
loves God as much as any earthly being can, but she is an earthly being. She
has probably fantasized about being swept off her feet by some debonair young
prince who offers her family to forego a dowry for the privilege of taking her
hand—after all, her beauty is without parallel. She has probably dreamt of
being a princess in a palace with servants and luxuries. At times, she has
probably wondered about the treasures of the world and longed to taste them in her
own life. And yet, the Angel Gabriel comes to her and tells her that she will birth
God’s son, a king among men. I then wonder, in the pains of labor, if she ever
imagined birthing this king in a stable. I wonder if she knew that she would
watch her son walk away from the family to live among thieves, prostitutes, and
beggars. I wonder if she knew that he would be branded a heretic by the men of
the word that she so dearly loved. On that Christmas night, surely she did not
see him dying an agonizing death at the hands of the men he was supposed to
rule. Despite her faith, I wonder if Mary’s Christmas was served with equal
parts of joy and fear.
I see Joseph. He’s a good man, the type of man that I’d be happy to
see Caroline—or you, if you were still with us—settle down with. He’s not bound
for greatness, but he makes an honest living and his peers respect him. His
word is his bond and he has a kind heart. And, in the confusion of a dream, he
is instructed to marry a pregnant woman. He is probably not entirely sure what
he has signed up for, but he obeys despite the strict norms of his society.
And, in the stable on that Christmas night, he holds Mary’s hand and tries to
comfort her through her labor. Maybe, in his heart, he wishes that someone was
there to take his hand and comfort him, too.
More than anything, I see the mothers and fathers of Bethlehem. I
hear their cries of agony as they watch a wicked fated army steal the future of
their sons. I feel the sorrow of a generation of parents whose children have
suffered genocide at the hands of a jealous and despicable king. For them,
Christmas is a pitiless reminder that the thirst for power can trump all human
emotions: dignity, compassion, decency, and the least of which is surely not
love. For them, the heavy burden of Christmas reminds them of their buried sons,
needlessly lost at the hands of the wicked Herod.
I fathom to think what went through His mind at Christmas. Perhaps
it was true joy. Not the superficial joy that I feel from time to time when my
pillows are appropriately fluffed or when my spirit is adroitly inspired.
Perhaps it was the joy of knowing that, despite all of the immeasurable pain
and suffering that fills the journals of history, this story of life is truly a
story of victory and love. Perhaps it was the joy of knowing that, as we go
about the real and tangible tribulations of our daily lives, if we could only
see the master plan, we would know that Mary, Joseph, the parents of Bethlehem,
and Jesus, truly lived out a story of unmatched joy and glory. Maybe, in this
Christmas season, if we could understand this unfounded joy, we would realize
that our trials are part of a bigger story.
It won’t change today. Pain is still pain and sorrow is still
sorrow. But, beyond act three scene four, victory awaits! For those of us who
are unsure, wait. And, if still unsure, be still and wait some more!
Bella, I miss you so much that it hurts. I know that my pain is not
unique. I know that victory does not come cheap. My heart hurts for all of
those that feel what we feel in your absence, but my heart also celebrates
knowing that we will be together again. There was a young king who loved me
more than I could ever fathom. His birth signaled as much tribulation as triumph.
His birth in this wondrous Christmas season ensured that, despite what we
actors may feel from time to time as the scenes play out, this story is truly a
story of joy, victory, and the least of which is surely not love!
We will see you again. When we do, these tears will seem silly. Merry
Christmas, little buddy!
Love,
Dad
P.S. Please do tell Santa that I never meant to say stupid.
I’m quite sure that the word never would have entered my vocabulary had it not
been for the corrupt influence of Kerry, my older sister. And, for the record,
I never enjoyed a fight. Any fights that transpired between me and my little
sister were undoubtedly instigated by Kathleen.
Caroline's take on the nativity. I'm pretty sure that's a guinea pig at left.
