I drove down the dark highway, the mist of rain tapping my windshield, softly enough that I pretended it was snow in my little nook of Florida. It was Christmas time, after all. Angelic tunes filled my car. It was one of those peaceful Christmas songs, the type where I didn’t really know the words, but my memory embraced the melody, latching onto the nostalgia as I let the instrumental chorus consume the space. It was truly beautiful. Heavenly. I stopped at the red light, the traffic hugging me at every corner, but the music continued painting images of stained glass windows and choirs draped in white gowns. As I inhaled the sweet blissful feeling of the sounds, a distant blaring siren smacked my ears, interrupting the music. It wailed louder, and red lights filled the dark sky in the lane ahead. Intrusive, loud and a total mismatch to the slice of heaven in my front seat. I felt a lump of pain grow somewhere in my throat. The urgency of the ambulance cutting through traffic, rushing somewhere – to someone in need. It didn’t belong, yet it was drowning out my peace.
It took me a moment to shake the thought and move my mind from the emergency back to my humming. I never did quite return. The sirens were a blatant reminder that earth certainly is not a place of peace. Just this year I’ve seen many mentions of how so many are hurting during the holidays. Notice them. Be sensitive to them. Don’t forget about them. I can relate. The holiday blues have tugged at my shoulder and nudged at my thoughts when I’ve found myself smiling too widely at the neighbor’s Christmas lights or humming the same carol on repeat. The feeling taps me, reminding me that every strand of sparkling lights is at risk of that one broken bulb.
So why is it that Christmas – a season of wonder and awe filled with moments of hope – why is it that it etches out the pain so much more clearly than the other months of the year? Could it be that it’s only when the bright lights get pulled from the bin and the shiny ornaments are unfolded from the bubble wrap that the darkness that juxtaposes them is made clear. As if it had been hiding all along, right under our noses all throughout the year, until we pop the lid from the storage bin and add batteries to the trinkets and tree toppers, that it’s finally revealed. Something that has been there all along. The sadness, the brokenness, the emptiness – it always was, but now it’s sorrow made known by the light of true beauty.
I wonder, as I think about the lingering thoughts, the grief still raw with jagged edges, and the lump that wells in throats pressing into corners of eyes that stare at nativity scenes and mugs warmed with cocoa. It doesn’t make sense. How could happiness live in such sorrow? Until, maybe it does. Maybe the coming of a Savior into a dark world was the first light that magnified the pain of what had crept along the earth all along. Maybe the Christmas story laid the foundation for those confusing thoughts that live somewhere beneath the sheer joy of the season.
Do I not want the glimmering lights, angelic music, gifts, joy and family gatherings all because it makes me notice the backdrop of pain? Of course not. If the pain has been there all along, wouldn’t I want to welcome the light? As we sift through bouts of low moments amongst glorious songs, I wonder if that is the battle of this earth magnified. Longing hearts, souls yearning for their worth – it begins to make sense. But I choose to look to the light even if it makes the darkness that much more apparent, because without it, I’ll sink into the dark without even knowing I’m there. Ignorant bliss…but where would it end?
‘Tis the season to embrace the rescue in this messy place we call home. And maybe – maybe those who wonder why their hearts hang heavy during moments of the most joyous season are simply awake to the contrast of something so pure amongst something so evil. Christmas is a whisper of the glory that will one day be made whole, but for now we squint, we seek, we search for that glimmer and hold onto it with white-knuckled fists lest we get lost in the dark.
