Is it ok to be sad at Christmas?

Inevitably at some point during the celebrations each year we'd take a few minutes to remember those who are feeling sad at Christmas; particularly those in broken families or the bereaved. Anyone on their own at Christmas was always welcome a place at our table.

Many are facing tragedy even in the last day or so, like the Glasgow incident, or have lived through the unimaginable slaughter of their children in Pakistan or abduction in Nigeria. We have no idea but God weeps with them.

For me, the run up to Christmas this year has been full of well-intentioned people - friends, neighbours, aunts and a solicitor - reminding me with sympathetic head tilts, that this Christmas is "going to be difficult and painful one". Well fair enough, it will be tinged with sadness as it’s my first Christmas without my parents - both of whom have now died of cancer in their late 50s. The house feels lonely and the family halved.

But you don’t have to look to the stories in the headlines or too far or deep to see others in pain. All around us are people trying to mask depression, anxiety, stress, sadness or loneliness with a fake smile, santa hat or Christmas glitter. What is it about ‘Christmas cheer’ that makes us feel under obligation to go through this? Is it ok to acknowledge sadness at Christmas? I think so. But the good news is that the story doesn’t stop here.

We know that life is not a perfect picture postcard, that the Bethlehem scene where all seems idyllic is not quite the truth – a stress birth, a manky stable, threat of death from Herod etc.  Jesus foreknew that his death was going to be a very painful thing and that he would face opposition from every side. Knowing he and others would face great pain didn’t mean he walked away. He embraced it, knowing that through the greatest pain comes the greatest forgiveness, love and indeed the hope of the whole world.

So, I’m not going to pretend that all is jolly just because Mariah, the Queen or a Christmas film is on and the tinsel is up. I know that true joy is only found in Emmanuel, God with us as a human, and it is available freely. Jesus came to a world in pain and into the mess of humanity and meets us in it. He truly feels our pain and will bring us true comfort and joy. The true wonder of Christmas.

What now?

Reminding myself of my choices

So we’ve just come back from the latest oncology consultation with some disappointing news. At one point when we were looking at spikes in levels and new white patches on the scans, Dr S joked that no matter what was said, mum would still smile.

Later on, reflecting on my shock, I began reading back through some of my blog posts, 2010-2012, when these kind of consultations were more commonplace for us. Most of the time mum’s appointments had been an opportunity to stun the doctors with the fact that a. she was still alive and b. she could walk – a good three years of stability passed the original prognosis.

In one post Consultant day - living on prayer (Mar 2012), I reflected on the fear you have to fight in the waiting room wondering whether this is the moment the stability ends. That week, even though the results were ok, I was challenged to trust Jesus with the future and surrender my hopes and fears afresh. I am now in desperate need to remind myself of this challenge and embrace it again!

I am reminding myself again that no matter how tempting it is to batten down the hatches in the storm or shut myself off from others, lifting my head and looking outwards puts things in perspective and enables me to continue living life and being grateful for what we have.

I remember that we should only ask ourselves “what now?” not “why?”. I remember that when first processing the terminal prognosis of both my parents I announced that I don’t want to end up bitter or holding on to my wounds. So how will I respond now? When the cares of life are overwhelming and my heart is sinking down will I fix my eyes on the hope of glory, on the one who can provide me peace beyond understanding?

God doesn’t reveal his plans beforehand and mostly we have no clue at his purposes but he does reveal himself to us and draw alongside us.

I also wrote this after my dad died: “My biggest fear now is that we won’t have my mum for long BUT I know I have to be grateful for the time I have her and really value her in my life. I will try to keep walking the tightrope of balance between believing God fully for a miracle and keeping asking but also acknowledging inevitable feelings.”

So, we continue to live on prayer and know that we have a God who is always faithful regardless of whether we understand what He is up to or not.

I pray that, whatever you are facing, you will be able to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ. Eph 3:18.

We shall rise

A crackly 1980s recording of my favourite voice in the world, accompanied by his guitar, sings: “We shall rise, we shall rise….on that resurrection morning, we shall rise. Death has lost its sting for us, death has lost its sting for us, death has lost its sting forevermore” Such appropriate truth.  This was a recording of my dad, played at his own dad’s funeral a few months ago. 

I should have thought better than to arrive at the Norfolk hospital alone back in October. The thought that I might need backup entered my head at one point but I convinced myself that I was now so familiar with hospitals that it would not be a problem.  I’m not shocked by anything anymore am I?!

Well. I didn’t expect my Granddad, (my Dad’s dad as mentioned in previous posts) at the grand age of 96, to be in fine nick but he was dramatically altered and struggled to communicate. 

Perching on the side of his bed and holding his frail hand, I desperately tried to let him know that he didn’t need to fear or panic. As well as the family similarities in their look, the looks and the gasps of momentary confusion and panic were such a painful reminder of later days with my Dad.

I pressed on through and we talked about each member of the family and how they were doing and all he could keep saying was ‘I’m so lucky to have such a lovely family’.

Apart from the question of whether I had enough money or had yet found a boyfriend, which made me smile because he’d never normally asked such things, I assured him we were all grateful to him for providing us with such a rich spiritual legacy. 

I had been in that same ward and situation 2 years ago, and he had bounced back so many times, but this time felt different.  I just knew this was the last time I would visit him. I almost didn’t want to say bye. When he said “I’ll leave you to go to sleep now” I knew there wasn’t much point dragging it out any longer. 

Praying out loud that Jesus would be very present in perfect peace and that he would be assured of his saviour, he heard, nodded and gave a big thumbs up.  Aware that the tears were streaming down my face and surrounding visitors were pretending not to look or to overhear religious words, I didn’t mind. 

So why am I sharing this? Don’t we all have stories of family members dying? And yes he was of age. 

But it was Gogglebox (C4 Friday nights) the other day when they spoke about being afraid of death that made me think back on these events.  Then there was good old Dot Branning on Eastenders yesterday wondering whether her son Nick had ever accepted Jesus and if she could have done more to help him understand the gospel. It was actually a very moving and realistic prayer. 

Have my Dad and Granddad been defeated by death? I don't believe so at all. Not when Jesus is involved.  

Those song words reveal to me an amazing truth on a deep level. How can someone claim that death has no power over them even though it is as inevitable, devastating as it is? For someone who puts their trust in Jesus, life forever with God is on offer.  How do you feel about that?