by Hannah Herrera
The late October rains were witness to my constant heralding of the nearby centro comercial’s early-bird Christmas tree deals. I had scoped out local stores with the best prices on ornaments, tree toppers, and not-tacky tree skirts in a determined effort to offset the sadness of my first Christmas far from my family. I was certain the cozy glow of the tree lights would warm my homesick soul.
My husband and I set aside a night to decorate the tree and watch a Christmas movie with hot chocolate and cookies. It was going to be perfect.
We managed to assemble the stumpy bottom half of the artificial fir before I burst into tears.
I’m not sure who was more dismayed—my husband or myself. I’m not typically sentimental about missing people or places. I’ve lived far from my family and friends, albeit in the same country and with the ability to easily return for the holidays, for years.
Decorating had triggered an unexpected bout of nostalgia, and memories rushed like a movie reel through my head.
Our annual Christmas morning brunch and cinnamon rolls, teasing my brothers and sister when we were all home from college and school, the Feliz Navidad dancing cactus at my grandparents’ house, the mischievous laughs of my little cousins, the onslaught of assorted treats from my dad’s office, the parties and cookie decorating with hometown friends, the annual walk-through of the botanical garden’s light display, and of course, just being together.
I would experience none of it this year.
“Sorry,” I croaked to my husband. “This was supposed to be a happy moment.”
He gathered me in his arms and said, “Mi amor, it’s good to remember and it’s ok to cry.”
Through the healing power of hugs, hot chocolate, and a hackneyed but delightful Hallmark movie, my tears lessened.
For a brief moment, I considered ditching the decorating. Better not to have a reminder of all I’m missing occupying an entire corner of our living room.
But here I am, weeks later, and when I walk up to our precious Spanish-style townhome with bright pink flowers waving welcome in the warm breeze, I see the tree lights twinkling through the window, and I smile.
I’m able to feel the joy now, and I think it’s because I let myself feel the grief.
What if grief actually paves the way for joy? What if, like my husband said, it’s good to remember and it’s ok to cry?
Wrapped into the very meaning of the Christmas season is both my problem and my solution. Immanuel. God with us. Christ Jesus born as a human to inhabit our world and take our sins upon Him. The whole story of the Bible is of a God seeking to be with His people again. How beautiful, how breathtaking!
Immanuel conveys the deep meaningfulness of presence as love. It’s why I dearly miss my family and friends in a time when being together is so important. But it’s also why I can be ok, joyful even, when I’m far from them. Because His presence is the one thing in this life that will never change.
If everything looks different for you this holiday season, and loss is intertwined with celebration, may you hold space for grief as a doorway to joy. And may you remember God with us, even if so many loved ones are not.
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Hannah Blankenship Herrera has been working in college ministry for four years, the last year and a half in South America. She married her wonderful husband David a few months ago, and they are loving building a life together in Colombia. She is also passionate about reading and writing. You can find more of her work @ourwovenworlds on Instagram and Facebook.
