Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright...
Except when Christmas isn't. Calm and bright, that is.
Christmas is a blessed time, but it can also be a time of great stress for families, special needs families included. As I've been meditating on the stress in my own family this Christmas, an image of an old quilt rose up in my mind. It hit me how very quilt-like special needs families can be. Think about it. We're patched together with several different colors and patterns, each one representing a unique member of our immediate and extended clan. We have the fiery red temper, the ever-calm blue, the moody purple, the bouncy Tiggerish orange. These quilts are worn and torn in places because they're used on a daily basis, not neatly folded and tucked away in a cupboard. These quilts are used for picnics in the grass, as table coverings for special occasions, and on couches where the family likes to snuggle and watch movies while munching on buttery popcorn.
In other words, our beautifully vibrant family quilts can get pretty messy, especially at Christmas-time. Sometimes fragile seams rip. Sometimes the wear and tear of family life with disability—exhaustion, jealousy, resentment, depression, anxiety— tears our quilts right down the middle.
My family quilt has recently experienced a terrible tear. Respecting privacy, I can't share details. We can't get through life without experiencing occasional rips and tears in our family quilts. And, as moms and dads, we believe that it's our job to get out the sewing basket and sew up the seams, right? It's our responsibility to make everything better, to restore the family quilt, to get back to those picnics in the grass and cozy movie nights.
Unfortunately, there are some family situations that we are powerless to change. We can seek good counsel from our pastor or a therapist. We can—and we must!—pray. But we can't fix every tear in the fabric of our family quilts.
As I write this, Advent approaches. I love Advent, that period of waiting, hope, and expectation before the Christmas rush. We wait for the work of God; we wait for the Word of God made flesh. It's no coincidence that Advent arrives in the very darkest days of the year. We get up in the dark, we drive home from work in the dark. Many of us suffer from SAD: Seasonal Affective Disorder. We need light to live! We need hope in seemingly hopeless situations—situations around the world, in our government, and in our homes. God knows that we can't make it through a life of darkness and hopelessness. And so He sent Jesus to us, so that His light might overcome the darkness. In John 1:1-5 we read:
In the beginning the Word already existed.
The Word was with God,
and the Word was God.
He existed in the beginning with God.
God created everything through him,
and nothing was created except through him.
The Word gave life to everything that was created
and his life brought light to everyone.
The light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness can never extinguish it
I cling to this truth as I attempt to mend this family quilt that is ripped right down the middle:
I can't live without the light of Christ.
I can't mend the brokenness in the people I love.
Only Jesus, through the Holy Spirit, can do that.
So, what CAN I do as I gaze at my beautiful but damaged family quilt?
I can continue to fix my eyes on God, who knows about this brokenness. I know He sent Jesus as the restorer of ruined cities; as the restorer of the breach; to bring beauty out of ashes (Isaiah 61:1-8).
I can open my eyes to the beauty that still surrounds me. Yes, my quilt is ripped. Yet, beauty abounds! Walking out my door I am greeted by little reminders of God's goodness: our cat basking in the winter sun, a lone leaf dancing a whirly-twirly dance at the end of a branch, fog rising from freshly harvested fields, clouds scudding across a periwinkle sky.
I can voice my gratitude to God for all that is right and good in my world. I can sing my praises; I can write them in my journal; I can voice them aloud to my husband, children, and friends.
I can gather together new quilt pieces and sew them onto my family quilt: new friends adding fresh color and pattern to the familiar mix. I can do this by inviting them for meals, for tea, for times of prayer. My quilt, though ripped right now, isn't static. It's an ever-growing thing of beauty.
Even though it hurts and times are dark right now, I thank you, Lord, that You hold out hope for light and restoration. Thank You that YOU are the restorer. In my powerlessness, I lean totally on You and the fact that You are ALWAYS about mending that which is torn and broken. This is what You've been about from the very beginning of creation:
He was supreme in the beginning and—leading the resurrection parade—he is supreme in the end. From beginning to end he’s there, towering far above everything, everyone. So spacious is he, so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding. Not only that, but all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe—people and things, animals and atoms—get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies, all because of his death, his blood that poured down from the cross.
Colossians 1:18-20 The Message
As I meditate on the wise men laying down their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh at the manger this Christmas, I will visualize myself laying down my family quilt. Please accept it, Lord. I thank You and praise You for Your perfect plan, not only for my family, but for all of creation.
Merry Christmas to all of you!
Kathy is a spiritual director, author, and co-owner, with her husband, of Cloudland, a contemplative retreat center outside of Oxford, Ohio. The mother of 3 sons, 1 daughter-of-heart, and 1 grandson, she also enjoys writing middle grade fiction. You can reach her through her website, kathleenbolduc.com.
