Without reading ahead I kind of stepped on today’s reflection. Chole describes John’s prison questions this way: “the distance between what John thought Jesus would do and what Jesus actually did was straining John’s certainty of who Jesus was.”
Oh, my! How well I can identify with this feeling!
I’ve told anyone who will listen that when Dominic was killed I dragged a lifetime of what I thought I knew and understood about God into the light of child loss. It absolutely strained my certainty of who Jesus is.
And my questions made some folks uncomfortable just as John’s question makes some Bible teachers uncomfortable.
Most of us are familiar with John the Baptist’s words uttered when Jesus approached him to be baptized. Sometimes we fail to connect that confident assurance to the frightened plea he sent by way of his own disciples while in Herod’s prison.
I don’t doubt John’s sincerity when he uttered those words. But I know circumstances can make walking faithfully in the light of truth harder than one might imagine.
Life has made me very aware of the difference between a one time proclamation and ongoing affirmation of that assertion.
That means learning to let go of past mistakes, missed opportunities, woulda/coulda/shoulda.
Because the truthis no one lives backwards.
It’s helpful to reflect on how past actions might have influenced present conditions but it is crippling to hold those thoughts and feelings so close that there’s no room for new ones.
Letting go to make space for love is the only true fast.
I have observed Lent off and on for decades.
It’s an opportunity to set aside time and dedicate effort to thinking deeply about the current state of my spiritual life as well as refocus my heart’s affections on my Shepherd Savior King.
Faith, in general, is less about the sacrifice of stuff and more about the surrender of our souls. Lent, in kind, is less about well-mannered denials and more about thinning our lives in order to thicken our communion with God.
So many people think grief grows smaller over time.
But that’s not it at all.
Grief remains precisely the same size, occupies exactly the same space in my heart.
Instead, life grows around the grief so that the proportion of my attention and my emotions and my daily routine relative to grief changes.
I’m thankful for that!
I couldn’t have borne the initial heaviness for a decade. I couldn’t have (and didn’t want to!) feel that awful, piercing pain every minute of every day for ten years.
So how is Christmas differentNOWfromTHEN?
How do I celebrate, how do I mark Dominic’s absence, how do I carry the weight of missing along with the joy of living?
I have some small rituals that help my heart hold onto hope.
I light candles and I sit silent watching the flame. I build fires in my fireplace and allow darkness to fall while I celebrate the brightness that keeps it at bay. These remind me darkness cannot conquer the light.
I place ornaments on my tree that hold space for Dominic and for my missing of him. Little drums shimmer in the glow of Christmas bulbs. Even if no one else notices, I do and it makes me smile.
I decorate his resting place. I’ll be honest, I don’t feel close to him there. The grave isn’t where HE is. I actually feel closer to him in the home which was the hub of family activity for decades. BUT, my decoration reminds others who visit that here lies someone who is loved and missed.
I celebrate my living family. I want each of them to know that love lives forever. Yes, I miss Dominic, but I cherish each moment I have with them. Sometimes it costs me greatly to put on the smile and bake the cookies, but I’m still making memories and I want them to be sweet.
I set aside time each day (hopefully!) to give my heart a break. My habit is to wake before the sun so I have time to myself. In the silent darkness (candles or fire burning) I allow my heart to explore the edges I can’t afford to attend to in the busyness of daylight. I cry or journal or listen to music.
I have practical habits too.I write everything down. I don’t depend on my still deficient grief brain to remember details like what I’ve already wrapped. Calendars are my friend.
I try to remember that grace is boundless. I cannot exhaust the riches of the love and grace of Jesus. If I do less-than-my-best, grace abounds. If family or friends disappoint me, grace fills the gaps.
I have shared here since 2015-just eighteen months after Dom left us. My ongoing prayer is that sharing helps other hearts hold on to hope.
It’s a lifetime of missing, a lifetime of adjusting to the reality that one (or more) of the children we birthed is not here to share the present.
But that doesn’t mean life isn’t full and full of love, life and laughter.
My wish for you this season is not “Merry Christmas” but is, instead “Hopeful Christmas”.
May you see the love, light and life of Jesus in every sparkling bulb and flickering candle.
thelifeididntchoose 