Last Christmas was as near perfect as it could be for my family. We were able to indulge a little on ourselves and our children, we had the tree up and decorated days after Thanksgiving, we were prepared, rested and full of joy.
Soon afterward, I remember reflecting on our great holiday and I felt the Holy Spirit tell me, "Yes, enjoy this one, next Christmas will be . . . different." Different? Could it be that the long-awaited renovation of our home would be done? Could it be that my husband's new business would be successful? Different? Does that mean more stuff?
I certainly don't embrace hardship and I could easily argue that we've had our share. But I think now, since the discovery of a new baby on the way, "different" means opportunities to surrender those "perfect" plans, gifts, meals and festivities that make Christmas so special. Even good things have to come under the sovereignty of Christ.
I have known for eight months that medical issues were a possibility. The last two pregnancies were complicated, required bed rest and resulted in inductions at 37 weeks. At several points during this pregnancy, I came to the foot of the cross again, laying down fear, control, anxiety, and an endless number of bad things that keep me from the joy of the Lord.
This November and December, on nearly a weekly basis, my obstetrician threatened me with either an induction or hospitalization. "This might be a Christmas baby," she cheerfully suggested. I wasn't so happy to hear that. My due date isn't until January 19. My plans do NOT include spending my Christmas away from my other four children so that I can go through another long induction. More importantly, my plans don't include medical complications and bed rest that might require me to do so.
With every test result and ultrasound (that results in a furrowed brow from any number of doctors) my plans for Christmas seem to dissolve. I fight back the tears and try to be brave, but the question is not when my little baby girl will be born, but whether I am willing to surrender everything to the will of the Father.
But it is not all death at the cross. With surrender comes resurrection. I distinctively remember a Sunday in August when something broke inside me and instantly I was filled with a hope and joy that I can't explain. I understood, finally, that God didn't want me to suffer just for the sake of suffering, but he wanted to me to let go of my control of the suffering and choose to rest in him, so he could fill me with his perfect peace amidst the trials. I don't understand how it works, I just know that I've endured this pregnancy with more joy and peace than I ever have.
It is this peace that I must hold on to, now that I'm facing the home stretch. I need peace for each medical test and procedure, peace for each diagnosis, peace for surrendering every plan. If I am not willing to lay down these plans at the foot of the cross, then I've completely missed what Christmas is all about.
This Christmas is very different for my children. The decorations are simpler, the visits are cancelled, the gifts aren't as costly; all things that will be swept up in vague memories as they grow up and away from me.
If they remember one thing, it is that this Christmas, Mommy finally understands. And that makes all the difference in the world.
posted by Kathy Grubb @ 10:04 AM
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