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I need Christmas


This was written about two weeks before Christmas this year. Just now getting around to posting ... 

I’ve gotten used to bad news at Christmas time.

It never fails that what society inflicts upon us as “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year” always enters my life with both triumph and heartache. There are the usually family issues that everyone encounters: there are traffic-jammed highways, there are atrocious squeaky Christmas tunes “sung” by various woodland creatures.

Illness always invites itself to the party. Some years we have ushered in the birth of Hope gathered around small dimly lit trees in ICU rooms – a place where there is noise and hurry. And pain and stillness. A place where the concept of Emmanuel becomes concrete.

Other times, we have spent Christmas Day in the ER. Other times hospital season arrives just in time to watch fireworks from the hospital-parking garage. This year, we are stomping on fires and holding our breath.

It hurts me to listen to my mom breathe. It is rattle-ly, it is shallow, it is labored. Recently, she got a new pulmonologist who gave us hope that her lung condition may be able to improve. They did the tests, the imaging, we did the waiting. It turns out that her condition will not be improving. She is on a downhill trajectory.

Also, I recently discovered that my immunosuppressive therapies are not working and I must switch medications. And I’m back on steroids. And I feel defeated.

I need Hope to be born.
I need Love to be real.
I need Peace to dwell within.
I need to rediscover Joy.

I need Christmas.

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