Moving into December on the heels of a late Thanksgiving has taken me by surprise.
I thought I was better prepared for this third year without Dominic’s warm smile and quirky sense of humor to nudge me past treacly sweet Christmas songs into a more authentic celebration of the birth of Christ.
I was wrong.
While our weeks-long drought was broken by a wonderful and much-needed rain, the clouds also serve to emphasize the darkness of this time of year. They hide even the fainter light of an early setting sun and rush me straight into night.
One moment I can see clearly and the next I’m fumbling about for the light switch.
It’s been a rough week.
I dragged the small tree I’ve used these past two years from the attic full of hopes of a brighter and fuller season. I even got out some boxes of ornaments that we had tucked away since the children were small thinking I’d try to open a treasure box of memories that might dull the pain of missing.
It ended badly.
I’m boxing them back up today.
I Just. Can’t. Do. It.
I can’t even hang the newly purchased ornaments I’ve used the last couple years because now, they too, are reminders of how my heart is hurting, how my life is different, how my love for one of my children can no longer be expressed through special gifts and favorite cookies.
I think I’ll leave the tree empty this year. Lights only or maybe some handmade ornaments with the Names of Jesus.
Because that is really all I can hold onto right now.
The hem of His garment.
The hope of His promise.
The light of His love.
The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; those that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them has the light shined.
Isaiah 9:2 JUB