Christmas has come and gone for another year. Presents opened, food eaten.
Children happily playing with their toys, husband quietly snoring on the sofa.
Its been a good one but it is still so different, so very wrong.
The last three years have been hard. Traditions have had to change. You can’t survive doing the same old things when someone is missing.
Christmas morning’s visit to Livvys grave was so hard. The yellow glittery flowers was the only gift I could lay for my beautiful daughter.
Wishes send to heaven on my tears.
A kind old gentleman I have got to know visits his wife’s grave. He looks at me sadly and simply says
“it hurts “
How true are his words.
He loved his wife for over 40 years nursed her when she was sick. She was his, he was hers.
The tears fall down our faces as we share each others pain. He holds on to his memories I grieve for the ones we didn’t get to make.
Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries they all hit home the truth.
Our loved ones are out of reach.
Yet it’s in the Christmas story I find my peace. In the celebration of our Saviours birth I rejoice. For on this day was born the beginning of what would become our salvation.
As Mary held her dear baby boy in her arms did she ever perceive the life he would lead?Could she ever imagined his death?
As a grieving mother I can tell you it’s unimaginable. We bring our children into this world to live not to die.
Yet in the death of Mary’s son was the birth of hope. The birth of truth, the birth of life.
I grieve desperately for my daughter. In the midst of all the torn wrapping paper is my torn aching heart.
Yet on this day our Saviour was born and in this joyous moment was the birth of what I hold so tight. Salvation and the promise of eternity.
“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.
(John 3:16, NIV)