Christmas Mourning

As I sit here there is a pile of presents under the tree. My family still sleeps, but a smile fills my face guessing the joy and laughter that will fill this house in a few hours when we gather around to hear the Christmas story, worship Jesus, and open presents. Well, most of the family sleeps. My seventeen-year-old son was already up when I got up at 6:00 a.m., proving there’s just enough “boy” in my tall, handsome son that made it hard for him to sleep in.

This morning as I thought about the celebration of our Lord’s birth, my mind was already busy unwrapping. No, I wasn’t thinking ahead to presents. Instead, I was unwrapping the many memories of Christmas that I carry on my heart.

I remember sitting at the kids’ table in Grandma’s mobile home, laughing and goofing around with my brother and cousins.

I remember the doll house my Grandpa made when I was seven and the loving care my grandma took to decorate it.

I remember the cassette recorder I got in 6^th grade and the stories my parents, brother and I taped.

I remember the boom box and banana clips from high school, and my first Christmas with my son Cory not long after I turned 18. Cory was only 6-month’s old but the greatest gift God gave to both of us that year was John—my soon-to-be husband and Cory’s soon-to-be daddy.

I remember Leslie joining our family when John was still in college. We lived in a 600 sq. foot apartment and most of 3-year-old Cory’s gifts were 99 cent books from those Scholastic flyers.

When Nathan came along we were supposed to travel back to California after moving to Montana. Instead, Nathan became very sick with pneumonia. Looking at the photos from that year it’s easy to see how thin and pale he was. Our hearts were missing family that year, but thankful that Nathan was on the mend.

There are memories of the kids acting out the Christmas story, and Goyer family gatherings in which 35-40 of us would eat in our cleaned-out and heated garage because it was the only place big enough to set up tables and chairs for everyone.

My sisters and I

I also will never forget the first time I celebrated Christmas in California with my biological dad and the four sisters I didn’t know growing up. I had a happy heart that day, being with people I didn’t know well but who amazingly looked and acted just like me. How cool is that?!

This Christmas I’m especially excited because 21-month-old Alyssa’s old enough to participate in the gifts and songs. For the last week or so she’s woken up, “Presents? Presents?”

“No, not today, baby,” I’ve been telling her. But this day it’s a different story. “Yes, today!”

Alyssa

I’m also excited because the Stoltz family is living with us. (11 people from 5 generations tend to make things extra fun.) MaCayla, Audrie, and Donovan have been over-the-moon hyper-excited for the last week. There were moments I wanted to give myself a time-out just so I could have a few minutes of quiet. But some day this will be a special memory, too. Not only the noise (my ears will probably still be ringing), but mostly the togetherness. That’s the greatest gift of Christmas, isn’t it? Appreciating the ones you love the best being with you.

As I write this, there are faces missing around the tree, to be sure. Our oldest son Cory, his wife Katie and our grandson Clayton are 2,000 miles away. We’ll be seeing them in a few days, but there is still a sense of missing. There’s always a sense of missing when the people you love are far away.

And that’s when Christmas Morning becomes Christmas Mourning. I’m thinking of my mom, dad, siblings, in-laws, and friends, wishing I could fill me house with their faces, their smiles, their laughter. I’m sure you understand.

Of course it seems right, in a way, that this is part of Christmas. For just as important as looking back is the looking forward to the time we can spend eternity with our family and friends who’ve accepted Jesus Christ as Lord.

It’s so easy to center Christmas around the baby who God sent, but we cannot forget the purpose for His coming. Jesus’ mission wasn’t just about the manager, the angels, and the swaddling clothes. His purpose was to offer himself so that we can spend eternity with Him and those we love.

The greatest gift is one we’ve yet to open. Salvation comes to our hearts when we whisper a prayer of faith and relinquishment—when we give up the right to ourselves.

Like a beautifully wrapped presents under the tree, the best part of the gift is still to come. My mind is anticipating the unwrapping. I can only guess of the joy and laughter to come!