Home for Christmas

Christmas 2007 was my last Christmas in England; the excitement was high, my brother was getting married and I was going to Boston. My parents were seeing a lot of change in the space of a month. I remember saying goodbye to my Mum and Dad at the airport and they were weeping; I thought "why are you crying? I will be home in 6 months!" My parents were smart. They knew, deep in their hearts, that it would be longer. I didn't know that Christmas would be my last with my beloved Father. The last time we would go together Christmas shopping for Mum, the last time I would search high and low for country music albums for my him (they're hard to find in England), the last time we would sing Christmas carols at church together, the last time we would open gifts together. That Christmas haunts me in a wonderful and painful way. Each year since then I have celebrated with my family in Western Pennsylvania, creating new traditions, making precious memories but my heart brims knowing I can go back to my heart land this year. I have wanted for so long to be with my Mum in this special time. But as I ponder on the trip there is an edge to the excitement I feel, a sharp edge. A pain. A grief that I cannot suppress. My family will do what we always used to do; go see the Pantomime (Christmas play), exchange gifts, sing carols and eat yummy food but we will do so with a void; a missing piece. And although I want to pretend it doesn't hurt and I want to breathe back my tears I will not. I will be real. Real pain and real joy. And many of you reading this know this void and I share this for you. Christmas is hard. Really hard. The month of December is always is filled with tears; the first Christmas song I hear brings such strong memories that I have to turn it down. It takes me time to ease into the season. If you are reading this and have lost someone you love you feel this too and it's ok. But this pain is not all there is. When I reflect on Jesus, his birth and the hope he bought and ultimately perfected on the cross then my grief is eclipsed by peace. I suddenly think of heaven and I can almost see it. My dad in the presence of God, more human than ever, cancer free and enjoying eternity with him. And I, as a friend and follower of Jesus, will join him someday. And on that day there will be no more goodbyes. When I remind myself of that truth joy begins to creep into my heart and I begin to reflect not on my dads absence but on all he bought for so long and the future fellowship we have to look forward too. And this hope is not exclusive. It is for you too. Maybe you are reading this and Jesus has never been more than a distant concept but something stirs in your heart as you read this. Then I say today is the day to meet him. Today is the day to let him comfort you. Today is the day of hope. Jesus is real. His presence is real and only he can bring meaning to the loss you feel. He has done it for me and he can do it for you too.