Are you one to notice that, here in the Northern Hemisphere, on December 21, the sun is at its lowest point? Some call it our “shortest day.” Of course, the day is still twenty-four hours long; there’s just less sunlight. The opposite is June 21, our “longest day.” One advantage of these shorter December days is the opportunity to light up our homes and streets with Christmas lights and candles. The darkness is what makes the lights so beautiful.
It’s a bit like widowhood. Days of mourning create a velvety black backdrop against which the happy memories seem to shine and sparkle. Such contrasts bring profound depth and beauty to our eyes and souls.
Christmastime reminds me of another contrast too. Did you know that there were four hundred years between the end of the Old Testament and the birth of Christ? Centuries of silence from God; the heavens were still, God’s breath had no words—all prophecies had been spoken. But when Jesus was born, the silence was broken by a sky filled with cheering angels!
Widows and widowers today can feel that same season of God’s silence. Four days can seem like four hundred years—cheering angels are just as rare. But there’s hope for those who know Him. Tragedy can change to contentment; the inner wasteland of loneliness can be filled with the presence of Immanuel—our Savior’s Christmas name, which means “God with us.” And grief cannot exist in Heaven, where God will wipe away every tear.
Yet holidays are difficult. The contrast between the present and the past is immense. The house was noisy and full, now it’s so empty it almost echoes. In years past, there was a hand to hold, a shoulder to encircle, a loved one to lie in bed with at night. Now the bedsheets stay cold on that side. The children cry as we helplessly wish for a band-aid to heal their invisible wounds. Decisions that used to be made together are now doubled in weight and worry for the spouse who is left behind.
The contrasts are hard. The sunshine was too short. The present darkness is too long.
A widow friend named Mindy found her first Christmas very difficult. Her husband John had died in July of a massive heart attack. It was her birthday, and he’d wanted to take her out to dinner. Instead, she had found him outside on the ground when she was ready to go. He was dead before she could even start CPR. Without a goodbye, her life was totally upended.
She tried to be strong for her family and not cry in front of them—especially the grandchildren. Since then, she’s learned that grieving together appropriately was a good way for the children to process their own feelings and develop sympathy, wisdom, and maturity. She told me this about grief and grandkids: “They needed to see it. It was good for them, and it was good for me... No other way would they learn that depth of compassion.”
When Christmas rolled around that first year, Mindy did not want to celebrate. The contrast was too painful between John’s absence and the many days he loved on her by bringing her the first cup of early morning coffee, driving her to work when there was snow or ice on the roads, and even buying the groceries. She missed him, and her emptiness ached from head to toe.
But with the grandkids coming for Christmas, Mindy had to do something. However, she didn’t put up all her usual holiday décor. Instead, she only decorated a smaller four-foot-tall artificial tree. She lovingly decorated it with her most favorite ornaments—the ones she and John had bought at a garage sale and had hand-painted together as newlyweds.
The tree stayed up until spring. Whenever she tried to take it down, she’d soon give up. “It just felt good to leave it up,” she said. It was a source of good memories and thankfulness that she didn’t want to cut short. She took it down when she was ready. She advises new widows to also take charge of when they are ready for the next steps in their grief journey. “Grieve the way you think is right... It’s hard, but that’s OK; life’s very different, and that’s OK too.”
The Christmas tree doesn’t stay up until spring anymore. “Now I get a little excited to hang stockings and decorate,” she said. But her Christmas traditions went through some changes. A couple of times, she didn’t feel like doing anything for Christmas. One year, getting together with her family simply didn’t work out; they celebrated Christmas in July instead.
Over the years, she’s learned what helps her cope, and she’s quit trying to please people who don’t understand her. “If no one else agrees with me,” she said, “I’m OK with that too.” She stresses the importance of a good group of other widows to share experiences with, though. “I didn’t even know I needed that connection at first, but I don’t know how I did it without the widows’ group.”
Mindy works as a traveling histology technician. She’s worked all over the country: from California to Massachusetts, Montana to Texas, and everywhere in between. Traveling brings many contrasts, adventures, and new friends to her life, but she always loves to come back home, especially when friends and family gather.
The carol that croons “I’ll be home for Christmas” captures the contrast of being far away and longing to be home. That sense of belonging, finding peace, and living in contentment all stem from salvation and
Christmas. Have you received the gift of salvation yet? I’m reminded that if Jesus was never born, we’d never have Christmas. His love for us contrasts the world’s offering of rebellion and selfishness, and it’s the greatest help through the holidays and all of life.
May the love of Christ, friends, and family be a comforting contrast to the pain of losing your loved one this year. And if you want to leave your Christmas decorations up until next spring or summer, you have the full support of Mindy and me. We want you to know that while we may always miss our spouse, the heavy weight of grief doesn’t have to last forever.
“...He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces...” Isaiah 25:8. //
Until 2023,
ferree
__________
Ferree Hardy has helped thousands of widows through her book, “Postcards from the Widows’ Path,” small groups, speaking, and personal coaching, but touching one life at a time is what matters most to her. She holds a BA from Moody Bible Institute, and was a pastor’s wife in Ohio for over twenty years before her first husband died. She’s happily remarried now, and her readers know that moving seems to have become a hobby for her. But she also enjoys backyard chickens, aims to read fifty books a year, and loves to bake. Learn more by visiting her blog.