The gift I didn’t receive this Christmas

My husband and I have been working on decluttering our home, as of late.  And with that came a big realization: The last thing that we really need is more stuff.  So color me thankful that this year, there wasn’t a lot of “stuff” at Christmas.  We received mostly practical gifts that we needed, that would replace items that were worn out or no longer functional, gifts that could be consumed and gifts that add value to our life.  It has been the type of Christmas that doesn’t make you feel weighed down or heavy, that doesn’t ask, “where the heck are we going to put this?”  And my wannabe-minimalistic heart has appreciated this year’s lightness and reveled in the simplicity that this year brought. The warm hugs, the crackling fires, the traditional food, the belly laughs, the fun games, the stretchy pants, the off-tune carols… the very best stuff about Christmas, that isn’t really “stuff” at all.

And yet… I feel like this Christmas, eerily similar to the three Christmases before this, I’ve been left wanting. Left wishing. Left wondering. Where is my gift? There’s only one gift that I really want… where is it?

I feel like a young child on Christmas morning. I’ve unwrapped packages of socks, pajamas and snow pants. And I’ve dumped out my Christmas stocking to find oranges, pencils and batteries. I hold back tears as I witness my family opening toys and games and books and candy and all sorts of lovely things. I look back and forth between my mom and my dad… “What about me?” I think. “Where are my lovely gifts? Where is the doll I wanted? What about the board game we talked about? Why don’t I get any chocolate or caramel?” But my parents remain silent. They just look back at me and smile. Tears well up in my eyes and I try to blink them back. But I sit there and wonder, “Do you love them more than me? Wasn’t I good? Don’t I deserve lovely, exciting things?”

Similarly, my hurt, anxious, bitter heart looks at my Father God this Christmas and asks, “What about me, God? Where is my baby? You gave me a name for my baby God, now where is he? I’ve prayed and received prayer, I’ve been given prophetic words, I’ve sought peace and patience, I’ve surrendered it all to you, and yet you don’t grant me the desire of my heart, God! You give other people miracles, why won’t you give ME a miracle? Am I not good enough for your miracle, God? This isn’t what I expected, God!” And yet I feel God just looking down and smiling. Unaffected by my anger, unaffected by words, unaffected by my pointing fingers.

And praise Him for being unaffected. Being mad at God is a new concept for me. One that, until recently, I thought wasn’t “allowed.” Because if I was mad at God, that obviously meant I didn’t have enough faith or that my faith is counterfeit. After all, like the young child on Christmas morning, I’ve been given what I need, haven’t I? I have a home, a job, food, clothes to keep me warm in the cold winter. How dare I be mad at God for not giving me what can be pretty easily labeled as a “want”? Spoiler alert: that’s a lie. Don’t believe me? Read Psalms 44.

Regardless, it seems an odd time to be mad at God, though, doesn’t it? Isn’t Christmas when everyone is happy and joyful and praising Jesus and oh so thankful? At least that’s what my Facebook feed and Hallmark tell me this season is for. And, honestly, I am a lot of those things. I’m experiencing and radiating happiness, joy, praise and thanks. But that doesn’t mean that the pain, the grief disappears at this time of year. As it turns out, grief and joy can coexist.

So no, this isn’t what I hoped or dreamed this Christmas would be like. This isn’t what I expected. But Jesus isn’t what others expected either. What young teenager would expect to give birth to God? What religious leader expected the King of Kings to be born amongst livestock and manure? What person would expect Jesus, God incarnate, to hang out with the misfits, the outcasts, the sinners? What disciple would expect Christ to die?

Jesus defied expectations. I hope and pray that the baby that will someday join our family and make me a mommy will do the same. Maybe next Christmas.

K.

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