House on the Rock

Christmas has come and gone in a whirlwind of candlelight services, peanut butter kiss cookies, and sweet together time as a family. While it was technically our second Christmas without Mom, in some ways it felt like the first. Many times, we would reflect on last year and say things like, “What happened?” or “What did we even do last year?” The fog of grief settled so densely that we could barely make sense of the memories. In many ways, I’m thankful for that.

This year, however, held so many glimpses of God’s healing goodness. We laughed hard — sometimes so hard that tears were streaming down our faces. I left the evening with a sore stomach from extended periods of deep, guttural laughter. It caused me to reflect on the way God can redeem seasons and spaces from one year to the next — that He really is a God who turns mourning to dancing.

And that’s not to say that we’re not still mourning many losses. We’re still prone to tear-jerking triggers that take our breath away. We’re a little slower to step into formation for family pictures, knowing the warmth of a Carrie Saunders smile won’t be with us. There are still times when I say, “Remember when,” only to be cut off by someone who does not want to remember what we’re missing right now.

But it feels wrong to ignore the merciful mending of hearts hand-woven by our Heavenly Father. We ought to look back and say, “look how far You’ve brought us!” To celebrate the movement from mourning to dancing. To dance in the light of moments redeemed.

One of those glimpses of redemption came on Christmas morning. If you’ve been with us long enough, you know that last year’s long-awaited pregnancy announcement was derailed by a gush of blood that would confirm the loss of our baby. This year, I woke up to kicks and hiccups from a soon-to-be-born baby boy. My husband rubbed my tightening belly while we unwrapped football-themed onesies. And we celebrated the movement from mourning to dancing.

Another one came on my grandparents’ couch. It’s the same couch where we gathered on a humid August night late last summer. I clutched Nana’s hand as we pulled up FaceTime with Mom, who was hooked to tubes and wires at a hospital far away. We shook together with silent sobs while my parents worked together to communicate the cancer diagnosis that would upend our entire lives. But this year — Christmas day — we sat side-by-side on that very same sofa. Shaking, once again, but this time with laughter over board-game buffoonery and sibling shenanigans. Celebrating the movement from mourning to dancing.

And perhaps the sweetest moment of redemption happened in the second row of a sanctuary, eyes lifted toward a glowing candle while carols cascaded from a Christmas choir. I got to gaze upon the flickering flame of fire and sing, “With the dawn of redeeming grace, Jesus Lord at thy birth!” Last year I would have lipped the same lyrics, but with a cold, confused, and calloused heart. Knowing in my head that God was good, but failing to really feel how much He was for us. This year, in God’s great mercy and kindness, I could sing with my whole soul, once again, of the movement from mourning to dancing.

So my prayer is if you’re finding yourself in the mourning — if the world is dark and the fog is dense — that you would hope in the God who can redeem the messiest moments. Even if your dancing doesn’t come this month or this year, there’s an eternity that awaits where we will dance without darkness for the rest of our days. How much sweeter that dancing will be if you’ve known what it feels like to mourn.

Thank you Jesus! and Merry Christmas. ❤