Every Christmas Eve, I listen to "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" and I cry the tears of grief.
I grieve for what should be and isn't.
I grieve for what should have been and never was.
I grieve for the place in my children's hearts and lives where grandparents should be and for another Christmas where they don't know the joy of that particular relationship.
I grieve for what sin and selfishness and brokenness has stolen.
I share my broken heart with the One who knitted me together.
And then I dry my tears and put that heart in His trustworthy ahnds.
I look at my sons and I praise Him for His grace.
I praise Him for a generation of children who won't ever have to wish I had been here.
Who won't ever wonder whether I cared.
Who won't ever wonder whether they were enough.
Who won't ever have hearts shattered by promises I didn't keep or lives lived under the weight of what should have been.
By His grace,
and for His glory,
I'm here.
They don't have to wish
and to wonder
and to wait
and to hope that
one day I'll show up.
By His Grace,
I give them all I've got.
By His Grace,
I intentionally mother them....
even though no one showed me how.
Because of what I wasn't given,
I give my sons what they should have.
I take motherhood seriously because
I know more than I should about its impact.
I imperfectly but faithfully craft the family culture that they can one day be grateful for and by His grace, they'll never cry on Christmas Eve because of anything I should have been and wasn't.
Peace and Pain...
They coexist.
It isn't joy OR heartache.
It's both, and.
The fallible nature of people and the broken nature of the world ensure that there will always be heartache.
But His faithfulness ensures
that there will also always be joy.
So grieve....
With Hope.
Cry...
And laugh.
Break...
And go before the Throne.
Whatever it is...
Whoever isn't at the table...
He sess your longing.
See and savor His goodness,
and change the tide...
By His grace, for His glory.
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