christmas

My dad's birthday is on Christmas day.

Yep. It's true.

See the birthday balloons in the background?

That means however awful the holidays were going to be, multiply that by an impossible number and you'll get the what's-left-for-us-to-celebrate-anymore heartache that I am overwhelmed by often.

Perhaps it sounds insensitive, but I never thought I would be one of them: the ones who just can't do Christmas like everyone else because it hurts too much.

But now I am one of them. I miss my dad more than I even knew I could ever miss someone. I often find myself desperately looking for him, seeing a truck from a distance that looks like his (and sometimes with a driver who resembles him closely), going places I once went with him, wishing that just one more time, he could be there.

And Christmas is never going to be the same. I want to say that it won't ever be good again, but I am hoping.

I'm hoping that though the pain is so real, this will be redeemed.

The void left in my family. The destruction left in the wake of destruction. The hurtful words that have been spoken to us by those who should have spoken love & grace. The what's-left-for-us-to-celebrate-anymore heartache that hopefully, won't always overwhelm. The incredible abyss of loneliness, and the fear of community that keeps me from reaching out.

I'm holding on to my precious, valiant Jesus, hoping.

I am struggling, this is true. But I'm holding on, for dear life.