I remember (and recall it often) the day he pulled out of the driveway on his way to the airport, headed to Arizona for what was supposed to be a 3 day business trip. For some reason, this time felt different than all the other times I’d watched him leave. I didn’t know why, but I remember looking at him in the distance for quite a while... praying for his travel safety and feeling slightly uneasy about his departure.
Three days later he’d call me form a hotel room at 6 o’clock in the evening to tell me he wasn’t feeling well, and he was going to bed early. I’d worry about him, knowing he was running a fever and I wasn’t there to tend to his illness. But there wasn’t much I could do being over 1500 miles away.
The next morning he’d call to tell me he was headed to the emergency room because the “illness” wasn’t getting any better - and in that moment I knew something was wrong.
Diverticulitis.
A ruptured bowel.
Sepsis.
Hospital admittance.
Emergency surgery.
Respiratory failure.
Re-intubation.
All words that were used to describe his grave condition. All words that would stir within us fear, anxiety, worry, doubt, and panic.
And as I stood in a foreign hospital, hundreds of miles away from my home, with my 9-year-old baby girl, awaiting a doctors report that sounded more grim than hopeful, the attending nurse handed me my husband’s personal belongings, including his wedding band, and whispered to me, “He’d want you to have this. Go home and we’ll call you it his condition improves.”
I’d spend the whole night in tears. I’d spend hours clinging to my little girl who’s bravery far exceeded my own. I’d make a phone call to my best friend who’d pray with me at nearing 2 a.m. And I’d call every hour on the hour to a hospital ICU praying that he had awoken and was already joking with the medical staff.
And that news would come the next afternoon.
And I would praise God that he was awake!
Chloe couldn’t see him in those first hours. It wasn’t safe for him and it wasn’t appropriate for her. And so for 2 days I would toggle between being supportive wife, and caring momma.
And we’d spend the next 8 days in a hospital room not much bigger than our master bathroom, and the next 2 weeks helping our sweet daddy/hubby recover to the point of being eligible to fly home.
And we’d recall this experience over be last 9 years many times.
And yet somehow, this year, it affects me even more. Because there’s the take-always from that season of our life:
- Christmas doesn’t always look the way we plan it. You can plan and create and organize and bake and buy, but sometimes life throws a curve ball you never saw coming and you cannot control the outcome.
- People all over are dealing with heavy issues that are more painful than we could ever know. Some are barely scathing through this holiday season and some are so wracked with depression and sadness, that is only heightened by the season gleefully labeled, “the most wonderful time of the year!”
- At the end of the day family and loved ones are the superior need for every soul alive. We don’t need more trinkets... we need more treasured time with those we love the most.
That Christmas didn’t look at all like we planned it to look, but it was, indeed, the most precious Christmas we’ve ever had.
There were no Christmas lights, no hot cocoa, no presents to unwrap, no Christmas tree, no pine candles, no Christmas cookies and Gingerbread houses, and no snow falling outside of our window.
There WAS a 9-inch Christmas tree we bought at Walgreen’s, a battery operated lighted snowman we left turned on through the lonely nights in the hotel room, and on a Christmas Eve there was a momma and a daughter who’d sing “Away In A Manger”, and give thanks for giving their daddy/hubby a second chance.
No, Christmas sometimes doesn’t look the way we want it to, or plan on, but it still can be beautiful. And peaceful. And memorable.
The first Christmas was that way too.
A barn. A feeding trough. Shepherds.
And yet it was the most miraculous night ever.
And so this Christmas... let’s focus on what really matters. And let everything else go. Let’s not fixate on perfection... let’s live grateful for every moment we’ve been given. It’s all... every aching and beautiful bit of it... gift!
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