Christmas in transition

I'm back in Norman after a very nice Christmas weekend with family in Texas. Thanks to all who joined along in singing (and playing) songs of the season! And oh the food and smiles and hugs and love. Sweet music of life -- to hear it, to share it and to praise God for it. It was our first Christmas without Daddy physically among us on Earth. There still weren't any public tears that I was aware of, and not much discussion of our thoughts since Daddy's passing. To me, it seems people would rather not talk about it. I was aware we didn't do a family picture. No one mentioned it that I heard. I thought of it but didn't want to be the one to bring it up. I do have a sense that late August was our Christmas, and we took lots of pictures then. As I prepared for the weekend, one of the things I tried to recall was what our mindset as a family was last year. It was after Daddy's lung surgery. As far as we knew, the surgery was a success and he was cancer-free. I think the sense was overwhelming gratitude that he had come through everything so well and that we were together for another Christmas as a family. All of the children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren were there. I don't recall any thoughts that it might be our last Christmas together, other than just as part of our fresher reality that we won't all be here forever. And then when the 3-6 months prognosis after an inoperable liver cancer diagnosis came in last August, it still seemed hard to fathom Daddy wouldn't be here this Christmas. That was still the case for me the first week of October. But by the last week of October, it was clear that God's, and Daddy's, gift to the family would be for Daddy's suffering to end and our new reality to begin. And for me, some of what Christmas is all about was stronger in my heart, knowing that God's gift of His son is why we don't have to fear death -- our own or those of our loved ones who put their faith in Him. Daddy was certainly in good company for his first Christmas in heaven. Anyway, I'm still trying to find my way on when and where it is appropriate to really talk much about Daddy and honor his memory. Among ways today: Memorial donations and words on a blog. Meanwhile, life goes on. I was grateful to attend the Christmas Eve communion and candlelight service at Whaley in Gainesville with Gene, Mom and Amy. Then Gene and I went to McKinney to spend the night and Christmas Day with Gene's sister, Mae, and her son, Michael, joined later by his significant other, her son and their hyper chihuahuas. And somehow there was still time for a Christmas night visit to see Mom and those staying at her house. And of course Monday with Mom and my siblings and their families and extended family and friends is always time to treasure that ends too soon. Grateful for memories -- and pictures! I caroled every chance I got, including on Facebook. I enjoyed that we did sing Christmas songs -- spiritual and seasonal -- before opening presents Monday. I don't know what I expected for this Christmas. I know it turned out good. God's presence seems more real to me than ever. I pray to live in a way that I never lose that. Happy birthday, Jesus. Thank you, God. I pray to reflect Your love and live to Your glory.

I guess it's time -- smiling through tears

Well, the tears are becoming more frequent. They are mostly while I am alone, praying, writing or just thinking. Today's were prompted by a bit of frustration with Christmas preparation, realizing another thing I'd forgotten to take care of, combined with a warm memory about my Dad and a nativity scene I'm pretty sure he wanted me to have. And they are truly still tears of joy and gratitude -- but of course also sadness and loss.

Sadly as for what it says about my vanity, one of the most frustrating things about tears and weeping is that even if I do it privately, the effects of a puffy face and itchy, tired eyes are very public.

So, if you notice my swollen face and eyes or see me crying, understand that I truly do feel joyous and blessed. Those feelings warm me so deeply inside.

As I've expressed many times, smiling through tears produces beautiful prisms, like sunshine or light blazing through water or rain. They are beautiful. They represent beautiful memories and blessings and gifts from God.

And, of course, God's greatest gift is His Son, Whose birth we celebrate at Christmas. That's why I know that even if I cry or my face is puffy or I have a moment of self-pity, God is with me/us. Emmanuel. Joy, joy, JOY TO THE WORLD! The Lord is come!

A gift from the Father to a daughter of the Psalmist's son

Faith. Hope. Love. And the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13:13)

Faith is very, very important, though. In recent days, I have been increasingly grateful that God and Daddy (Charles Davidson, whose surname makes me think of him as the Psalmist's son, and me as a daughter of the Psalmist's son) gave me a gift of greater faith.

Pray. Believe. Have faith. Trust. Obey.

I am having to rely heavily on faith as I face Christmas. I fear I will cry at any time. I often feel I am on the verge of tears. A few come, such as when I called to talk to Mom this morning. But not many have flowed. (Yet.) I am reminded I can have faith that's OK if and when the tears flow. And what if I don't cry? That's OK, too.

Monday I was starting to feel resentful about how some things are going at work and in relationships, especially with regard to Christmas expectations. I finally had to step back and just pray some more. God gently reminded me that I still am very much in the process of grieving. Holidays have been a complex mix of eager spiritual anticipation and earthly stress for me for many years, and of course they are more so this year, so soon after Daddy's Oct. 30 death. God was able to help me trust again that He is in charge, guiding me and loving me and strengthening me and comforting me.

Part of this is related to thoughts I've been journaling about for awhile: Yes, but ... What if?

How many times will God have to show me before I really believe? First came Daddy's summer 2010 diagnosis, fall 2010 surgery, new diagnosis in August 2011 and eventual amazingly sudden and smooth passing; and seeing so many ways in which God sustained Daddy and Mom and the family. In the weeks since Daddy's death, Mom has had some health issues, and again we see over and over how God has taken care of her and continues to do so.

But as Mom has had her health scares and things keep working out smoothly, my thoughts have touched at least briefly on situations where that isn't the obvious result. What about the death of 5-month-old nephew Ryan all those years ago, uncle Joe's desperation, Josh's dad, 9/11 and other unexplainables .... people who died too soon, unexpectedly and/or alone.

For today, the message God seems to be giving me is that it's not what happens but how we react that matters most. Daddy reacted in simple faith. Mom reacts in simple and strong faith. I am grateful to be surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses (Hebrews 12:1), on earth and in Heaven -- people who have chosen faith in God. And I can choose faith, too. What a gift!

What would you do if you knew? Part 3

What would I do if I knew ... ?

--Surrender. Not to the disease or the fear or the grief or despair but to the care of a loving and gracious God. This sometimes is a moment by moment process. I surrender then I take it back. I surrender, then I try to start fighting it again. Let go and let God. Let God fight it for me.

--Acceptance. The Serenity Prayer. "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference." I want to know everything -- the doctors, the medical details, the nurses, the Hospice team; how daddy and mom are experiencing everything. I want to be there. I want to help. I need to accept reality. Add to the Serenity Prayer an attitude of gratitude: gratefulness that Mom and Dad have family, extended family, church, friends and resources including medical care and hospice.

--I thought I would cry. There haven't been many tears yet. What seems to be happening is that I'm shutting that down. I think that may explain why some days I feel as if I'm in a fog. It seems I can't shut down the negative or sad feelings without affecting the full range of emotions.

I thought maybe when the Aggies lost to OSU yesterday in Aggieland that would trigger tears. No, not yet. It will be something more random, I guess. All that game did was mess with my mind. A win would have made me feel a simple kind of happiness. With a loss, my silly mind keeps going over what-ifs. What a waste of mental energy, but that's what happens. So I expend more mental/spiritual energy to tear my thoughts from that unchangeable and truly insignificant thing to subjects of substance. I rationalize and try to see what God is trying to teach me from my reaction to a game. And I still wish they had won. (See, I still haven't let go.)

--Smiles and gratitude. Still, so far, there are more smiles and more gratitude for blessings and less sadness and fewer tears than I would have expected. But there is growing tiredness, and with that comes greater vulnerability to unhealthy choices -- and also to the breakthrough of pent-up emotions. So, I'm back to where I started: praying to let go and let God, to trust Him to protect me from negativity, despair, fear or even too much tiredness, and to hold me in His loving arms and care.