Broken Faith

The first Christmas without my child was one I wanted to avoid. Yet bereavement is not a journey we get to bypass; bereavement is a journey made to go through, and discover how to live in spite of sorrow.

December 1997

At the strip mall I entered a chain Christian bookstore I’d been to many times before. A Christmas tree with red bows and silver and gold ornaments greeted me. I was aware of the piped-in music because it was one of my favorite carols that played, “O Little Town of Bethlehem”. Whoever was singing had a rich, soulful voice, which transported me back to last Christmas.

Last Christmas we had our own decorated tree, expecting to spend Christmas at home with my brother and his girlfriend who had come to visit. But days before the 25th Daniel ended up in the hospital due to some unknown cause. He’d spiked a fever, was delirious, but although numerous tests were done, nothing grew in the Petri dish. Next Christmas will be different, I had thought, as I sat by his bedside reading books to him. Next Christmas he’ll be done with his protocol and we’ll be able to celebrate at home like a normal family.

We were now living next Christmas.

As the music in the bookstore continued, I walked down the aisles. One aisle was stocked with motivational books, books with titles that were all about how to increase your faith and trust Jesus in all things. Book after book. Believe, grow, love, trust!

I made my way toward the door, ready to leave. I'd been crazy to think that I could shop during this season. With a hand on the door, I paused. To my right I saw a table that had a sign on it: Discount.

Discount tables and I have always gotten along. I’ve never met a discount I didn’t like. On the table among plaques, and tree ornaments, a stocking hanger with the manger scene piqued my interest. There in the middle of the decoration was baby Jesus in the cradle with Mary and a lamb to the left of him. Joseph crouched by Mary and the three wisemen with their gifts were together. A donkey relaxed by the foot of the cradle. I picked the item up, turning it over in my hand. I noted the weight of it. It was a heavy piece.

As with anything that’s placed on sale, I want to know why. Peering closely, I saw the tiny star at the top of the hanger had a faint diagonal line underneath that didn't look like it belonged. Two of the points of the star were chipped. The donkey was missing an ear. The item had to have been dropped or hit; the star must have broken away from the rest of those below it. Someone had used glue to seal it back to the roof of the stable. I suppose the donkey's right ear was never found. I ran my fingers over all the edges and figures, over the defects. I had never had a stocking hanger before, but that was not why this decoration continued to stay in my hands. This object connected to me.

It belonged to me.

I purchased the discounted broken item. It was right within my frugal budget; it had been marked down from twenty-five dollars to just seven-ninety-nine. Now it really was mine.

On the way home, I drove past homes with festive lights strung from eaves. Plastic blow-up snowmen and big, happy Santas waved from neighbors’ lawns. Wreaths graced front doors. Inside the windows I saw decorated pine and spruce trees, their twinkling lights bright and warm.

When I got home, I hung my new purchase on the mantle in the family room. I told my husband that the item was the beginning of a collection of Christmas decorations, decorations for the broken.

Next year, maybe it would be easier to breathe during the holiday season. Next year maybe the air would not be thickened with brokenness. But maybe not. There were no promises for an easy life; but there was the promise of Emmanuel always with us.



O little town of Bethlehem

How still we see thee lie

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by

Yet in thy dark streets shineth

The everlasting Light

The hopes and fears of all the years

Are met in thee tonight.

Chocolate Crinkles from Memories Around the Table

Make these Chocolate Crinkles for your Christmas celebrations. They're easy to make and great for chocolate lovers! The recipe comes from my cookbook, Memories Around the Table: Treasured Recipes, and is in memory of Margaret Garman, mom to my friend, Barb Eyster.

Chocolate Crinkles
Margaret Esther Garman
June 21, 1926 ~ May 10, 2012

1 cup cocoa
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 cups white sugar (I usually use less)
4 eggs
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons vanilla
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons buttermilk
For dipping
Powdered sugar
White sugar

Mix all ingredients together and refrigerate the dough overnight. When ready to bake, take the dough out and roll it into small balls. Dip each in white sugar and then in powdered sugar. Bake at 350⁰ F. for 8-10 minutes.
Don't over bake.

Merry Christmas!


~*~*
Memories Around the Table is available at Amazon and at my Rivers of Life Gift Shop.

Making Peace with Christmas

Christmas confuses me.

From all the songs that consume nearly every radio station from Thanksgiving on, I've concluded that it's supposed to be white. (I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas). And romantic. (All I Want for Christmas is You!) It's the most wonderful time of the year! It's the happiest time of year. We want everyone to be home for Christmas. Have a holly-jolly Christmas!

It's not only the songs that tell us what the season is supposed to entail, but even the commercials for products entice us.

"Get into the holiday spirit with Dunkin Donut lattes!"

What is this holiday spirit? And how is a latte going to help me get there? And do I even want to be "in the spirit"?

The mail arrives and there's a flyer for a craft store that's having a Christmas Blowout.

I imagine tree ornaments, elves, bells and reindeer all exploding into bits.

Christmas in America confuses me.

"I'm not sure I like it," I told a friend and she tried to analyze why I had a bah-humbug attitude. To another friend I admitted that Christmas was overly-commercialized and that if I heard another peppy song about bells and sleighs and a snowman named Frosty, I might just scream something "not in the spirit".

If the spirit is overspending or seeking out the perfect gift, or feeling frantic from a busy calendar, or being envious of somebody's Martha Stewart table setting, do I want it? Why would I embrace this?

But I have. And people do.

People not only embrace it, but get flustered over it all. It's too much. There are articles out there written about reducing your stress during the holiday season. Patricia Schaefer advises us: "Don't let holiday stress spoil this joyful time of the year. Before you find yourself knee deep in turkey and dressing, holiday parties, and shopping, shopping, and even more shopping, heed these tips for reducing holiday stress."

We have to be the only species on earth that create a season that promises joy, cheer, and fun and then need to help ourselves calm down and not get overly stressed.

And through it all, we are supposed to be merry.

I'm not sure why we think that Christmas is this magical time when suddenly all should turn well and be happy. I think we have made too much over the holiday and enlarged it so big that there is no way it can ever fulfill our expectations. Christmas originated as a day chosen to recall and remember the birth of Jesus Christ. That's awesome when you stop and think about God coming down to measly ol' earth as a baby to be among us. Yet we have taken what happened on that silent night and made it into everything from Secret Santas to Mommy kissing Santa to expecting world peace. We can't even get along with our own families.

We place all this pressure on ourselves and scurry around and cram all these parties and activities into this one month.

We then complain that we're too busy. When we have brought it all on ourselves.

We get so bogged down that some of us say we want to go back to simplicity. Then we are looked upon as "evil" for not having a tree or decorating or for not wanting to attend every church choir performance or for not traveling to Bermuda or for not buying our 16 year old that Lexus that is advertised on every TV station.

Christmas is a time of great sorrow and regrets for many. It brings out the loneliness and fear. People compare their lives with others. No one seems to match up to how he or she thinks he or she should be. And when you have had a loved one die, the absence of that loved one seems to be magnified in December.

Christmas is a time when we recognize that we need to be less self-absorbed. So we guilt ourselves into giving to charities. We think of people we never give a thought to the rest of the year--those society calls, the "less fortunate". We scramble our pennies together to toss into the Salvation Army's kettle before rushing into Walmart in hopes that we can find just what our children want.

So perhaps it's not that I don't like Christmas, I don't like what we have done to Christmas in America. I know we can't and won't go back to the 1930s and 1940s, the era of our parents and grandparents. And it's not just because our children want those electronic games and toys and would never be content with the red wagon or puzzle of days gone by, it's also because society has pulled us along and we, as adults can't go back.

There has to be a balance between being exhausted and not caring. And being at peace with what you choose and how you choose to spend this birthday remembrance of the Son of God.

If you find it, please let me know how it's done.

Surviving the Tinsel: 11 Tips to Get Your Broken Heart Through the Holidays

That holiday-pang hit my stomach the first October after Daniel died. Greeting me at an arts and craft shop were gold and silver stockings, a Christmas tree draped with turquoise balls and a wreath of pinecones and red berries. What was this? And was "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" playing as well? It was only October.

I had anticipated that Christmas and the holidays would be tough. In fact, I'd wake on those cold mornings after Daniel died in February and be grateful that it was still months until his August birthday and even more months until Christmas. I dreaded living both without him. I would have preferred to have been steeped in cow manure. At least then I could take a hot bath with sweet smelling bubbles and be rid of the stench. But bereavement isn't that way. As those who had gone on before let me know, you have to live through it.

Christmas came. I did live through it. It continues to happen as do the other significant days of the calendar year. Daniel never arrives at any of them although his memory lives on. By incorporating him into these days of festivity, I can cope.

Some of you have your child's birthday and/or anniversary day within the November through January season. These days, in addition to the holidays everyone else is celebrating, make the season even more complicated and painful, I'm sure.

I offer eleven tips I've used to survive the holidays. Some are my own suggestions and some are borrowed from the many who walk the path of grief.

1. Know you will survive. Others have done it and you will, too. Keep in mind that your first Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's Day will not be easy.

2. Find at least one person you can talk to or meet with during the holiday season. Perhaps this person has gone through a few Thanksgivings and Christmases before and can give you some helpful ideas that have worked for her.

3. Things will be different this holiday season and perhaps for all the rest to come. Don't think you have to do the "traditional" activities of years past when your child was alive. Your energy level is low. If no one in your household minds, skip putting up the tree. Forget spending hours making your holiday cookies.

4. Spend the holidays with those who will let you talk about your child. You will need to have the freedom to say your child's name and recall memories, if you choose to do so. Your stories about your child are wonderful legacies. Tell them boldly again and again.

5. If going into the mall or stores brings too much pain, shop for gifts online or through mail-order catalogs. Thinking everyone is happily shopping at the malls with intact lives while your heart is crushed is terribly tough. Go easy on yourself.

6. Getting away from the house is an idea that worked for my family. The first Christmas without Daniel we went to a nearby town and lived in the Embassy Suites. The kids enjoyed the indoor pool and breakfast buffets. Christmases that followed were spent at a rented cottage on the shore and the Christmas we rented the beach house, we were able to invite extended family to join us. We all shared in the cooking.

7. Create something to give to those who have helped you throughout the year. I made some very simple tree ornaments with "In Memory of Daniel" stamped on them and gave them to friends that first Christmas.

8. Decorate the grave. Put up a plastic Christmas tree with lights. Sometimes being busy with decorating the grave gives a feeling of doing something for a child we can no longer hold.

9. Do something in memory of your child. Donate to a charity or fund in his memory. Volunteer. My oldest daughter Rachel and I volunteer at the Hospice Tree of Remembrance each December and share memories of Daniel as we spend this time together.

10. If your bereavement support group has a special candle-lighting service to remember the children in your area who have died, attend it. Doing something in memory of your child with others who understand the pain these holidays hold can be therapeutic.

11. Spend time reflecting on what the season is about. Everyone around you may be frantic with attending parties, services, shopping and visiting relatives. Perhaps you used to be the same way. Now you may want to avoid some of the festivities. Give yourself permission to excuse yourself from them. Light a candle in your favorite scent. Record some thoughts in a journal. This is great therapy, too.

One day you will wake up and it will be January 2. The holidays will have ended. You will have made it. If you are like me, you will find that surviving the tinsel has made you stronger and although you may cry, somewhere within you, you will feel that core of new steel.

~ Alice J. Wisler
[First published about twelve years ago, about four years after Daniel's death.]