I had a pity party. The celebration lasted for two full days but the preparation had been long and arduous, as most preparations of this sort are. I invited the usual guests: Disappointment, Anger, Sadness, Grief, Weariness, and the guest of honor, Martyr. The reason for the party involved my love of Christmas and my desire for the celebration to include my family and friends in good health, happy, and full of Christmas cheer. However, I also wanted my house decorated, smelling like fresh pine or fir, and all the presents either wrapped and under the tree or mailed, and its worth mentioning, I wanted it all right now! I cried for two day and dissolved into fresh torrents whenever the tiniest of stressors came about. As pity parties go, it was a hum-dinger.
Last year my Christmas consisted of trips back and forth to Oregon as my father clung to life. Christmas Eve was at our home with my daughter, her hubby and dear little granddaughter, Greta spending the night. Greta was sick though and her cough and discontent were persistent thorough the night. We adults sat huddled in the kitchen, living room, bedroom or den trying to sooth her as the hours slipped by. Our tired and weary little group assembled for gift opening in the early morning while Greta tottered around with her white little face and vomit-strewn hair, clinging to her parents for solace. We ate a quick breakfast, kissed and hugged goodbye then the kids returned to their home over an hour away and Don and I went to Oregon, for what we thought would be my Dad’s last Christmas.
After driving almost five hours to Eugene, we spent the rest of Christmas day and evening with Dad. When we left him, we were exhausted and rapaciously hungry for a delicious Christmas dinner. We searched the entire Eugene and Springfield area for a restaurant but both cities and their restaurants were closed. Eventually, we found the ‘Valley River Inn’ who agreed to make us a sandwich in the bar as they stacked chairs and cleaned. They even had a piece of leftover Yule Log cake for each of us and Don and I munched wearily as we silently watched people vacuum and clean up from their busy day. Our dismal Christmas continued after our return home when the Christmas tree fell over on our wood floors and broke many of my cherished family ornaments. The above picture is the tree before it fell.
As blogged earlier, this last year has been full of worry, concern, triumphs and blessings. My husband has had three surgeries with painful recoveries and my Dad’s health has caused a roller coaster of emotions and countless long drives to Oregon. The days of my pity-party celebration involved my frenetic attempt to get Christmas or birthday gifts made, or bought and delivered to each recipient before leaving for my dad’s surgery to replace his failing internal pain-pump. My dad is very frail and I was afraid of him having a surgery and feeling the full weight of being his power of attorney.
I painfully decided to skip the Christmas tree and decorations this year because we plan to repeat our sojourn to Eugene for Dad’s second “last” Christmas. Therefore, part of my pity-party was actually a teary tantrum protesting my own decision to lighten my load. In addition, with my dad’s eightieth birthday party, as well as birthdays for my husband, a sister, and two granddaughters, well, my stretch is sagging. In fact, (lean in while I whisper this) I secretly wish that God would have thought about closing the womb of every woman in the month of March and maybe April so there could be NO December birthday’s other than Jesus…I’m just saying.
This last Sunday was the second day of my pity party. I teach Sunday school, and each morning before class we teachers join around a table at church and share our prayer requests before the students arrive. We joke about this time between us because it seems we each have a laundry list of woes, mostly concerning the aches of our own aging bodies, or the health of our loved ones. I sat at the head of the table in my classroom and tearfully emptied out my anguished list of misery. My friends gathered around in prayer and words of inspired wisdom, and my heart soaked up their love with a voracious hunger.
I left for Oregon after church and drove straight to my Dad’s nursing home. I lugged in a box full of Christmas decorations I had purchased from the dollar store and proceeded to create Christmas in my Dad’s room. As I began to decorate and chat with my dad, I felt my spirits lifting. I also began to realize that I did get to decorate for Christmas after all, and it felt like snuggling inside a cozy much-loved sweater. Afterwards, I drove over to my friends’ house to stay the night. They weren’t home but their house and yard were lit up in a festive array of lights, with a “Happy Birthday Jesus” sign planted firmly in the middle of their lawn. My “Home away from home,” as we call it, is a small little apartment at the back of their home and when I walked in, the room was warm and alive with lights, a nativity scene, festive decorations and the beautiful melody, “Oh Holy Night” was playing on a CD. I leaned against the doorway and dissolved into tears.
In the Bible in Mark chapter two, Mark talked about how four men carried a paralyzed man to Christ for healing. Finding the crowd too thick to get to Jesus, the men hoisted the paralyzed man up to the roof of the home where Jesus was teaching. They dug through the roof and lowered the man down to the feet of Jesus. When Jesus saw their faith Jesus said to the paralyzed man, “Son your sins are forgiven….I tell you to get up take up your mat and go home.”
This story has always moved me. Not just because God healed this man, but also because it took an entire group of faithful people to bring this person to Christ. Sometimes we are the one who is being lifted to Christ, as I am this Christmas season through the faithful love of my husband and friends. However, sometimes we are the ones who must carry the sick person and put our own worries aside. By giving our time and prayers we are lifting others to the feet of Christ and when we do this in concert with others, if one of us stumbles there are many others there to help pick us up. I’m thankful for how wide the circle of hands are that are carrying me this season, and pray for continued strength for my own hands to complete the good work God has prepared for me. May each of your Christmas’s be as blessed.
