Be gracious to me, O LORD, for I am languishing;
O LORD, heal me, for my bones are shaking with terror.
I am weary with my moaning;
every night I flood my bed with tears;
I drench my couch with my weeping.
My eyes waste away because of grief.
~from Psalm 6

We are now in a season of lights, carols, shiny-wrapped gifts, and happy parties. On the outside, we are supposed to be merry and bright. But on the inside, some of us resonate more with the psalmist whose bones shake with terror; this psalmist who floods his (or her) bed with tears every night.

Maybe our bones aren’t shaking, and our bed isn’t flooded, but the carefree fa-la-la-la-las nevertheless rings hollow to our hurting ears. The grief that we carry throughout the year becomes a bit sharper just at this time when we are supposed to be joyful. Hope, Love, Joy, and Peace are not common feelings we find in the depths of our darkness. I sometimes still find myself having to force myself to get in the spirit. I feel like I’m still fighting the good fight to recollect my heart during the holidays.

We get Christmas cards with pictures of happy, smiling faces. You know, those perfectly put-together families, the big ones. And the thought crosses your mind, where there’s a good big Catholic family, as most of yours are in heaven. We grieve the broken relationships in our own families, those who have hurt us, or whom we have hurt. We gather with family and friends, attentively aware of the ones who have died–those that should be there but are not. I allow myself to go to the places, daydreaming about what memories we would be making with Talon, Emma Grace, Christian Ryan, and Eva Catherine this year. Only to snap back to the reality of my reality. They are not here with me. They are missed so much.

During this time of the year, there is so much focus on Santa and presents. I get so lost in my Christmas shopping list because it really is hard when the children I would like to buy things for are no longer here. I drift off as my heart longs to buy them their favorite toy. Then I give up on shopping altogether. This is just too hard.

Many of us mourn the children we did not have; some mourn the things they cannot give to their loved ones because money is too tight. There are as many causes for grief as for celebration in these so call festive weeks.

It will be a difficult season for me—my first Christmas since Eva Catherine died. I won’t be buying her a stocking anticipating her arrival or sending that picture of us with my huge belly. For me, for my family, there is grief in the midst of the anticipation and joy.

The good news for us, though, the blessing for those who mourn during this time, is that our Christian faith provides an alternative to the loud sounds and bright lights of the season. Our faith gives us Advent, a time of deep waiting. At its heart, Advent is an acknowledgment of our deep need . . . and it is a celebration of God’s response to that need in Jesus Christ.

If there were no sorrow and grief, no loss and longing, then the incarnation would not have been necessary–the Christ child would not have come. We would not be made new.

So this is what I want to say to everyone whose raw grief rubs up against the surface sparkle of the season: Your sorrow is not counter to the story of Jesus’ birth. It is an integral part of the story. It is the reason for the story.

The happiness of Christmas is fleeting. The joy of Christmas is in knowing the One who bears our grief with us, who heals and redeems us and longs to be with us during our days of darkness as the light. We all walk this journey together. Some are a little ahead, and we help them with directions, but together, we are going in the same direction. I hope each of you gives yourself a lot of grace, knowing that one day, it will be a little easier to walk the hard path during the holidays.

From all of us at Red Bird Ministries, we are praying for you this Advent season.