Somewhere around the middle of November I start to brace myself. I love the holidays but they arenít always kind to my family.
When I send our oldest son off to school, he offers a weary smile Ė a sure sign of another sleepless night spent with memories of birthdays and Christmases before his adoption.
Then, thereís the man I married who hasnít heard from his biological father in more than 30 years. While perfect families flash smiles across the screens, he fights off the questioning and the wondering thatís always chasing him this time of year.
My job is usually to comfort them, to reassure them that they are loved and valued, and to keep the holidays normal for the two younger boys. I wrap presents and drape strings of pearls on the tree. I make hot chocolate and search for the best neighborhood light displays. I stay home and feather the nest.
Iíve gotten pretty good at it, so we look OK from the outside. But Iíve been angry inside. Troubled that the people I love have been hurt. Upset that some of their joy has been stolen. Burdened by the thought that Christmas doesnít feel very welcoming to them.
So this year Iím reading the Christmas story differently. And in the process, weíre rewriting our own.
Iím elbowing in at the manger, knowing that Jesus welcomes everyone. The grieving. The sick. The financially strapped. The less-than-perfect and the far-from-perfect.
Iím sidling up beside Mary and Joseph who know what itís like to have a family thatís different from everyone elseís and what itís like to have your own plans changed.
Iím standing shoulder to shoulder with the shepherds who are desperately seeking light in the darkness, who have come in their dusty shoes for the promise of peace.
Oh, how Iíd like to get that angelís attention. I desperately want to be close enough to whisper: Please, continue to tell the good news. Light up the sky and invite people to come as they are to Christmas. Remind them that they arenít alone in this crazy life and that thereís plenty of room Ė and love Ė here at the manger.
And I pray that the sacred, almost indescribable joy of Christmas comes to hearts both whole and broken this season. Itís meant as a gift for all.
“When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.”