"Yet in the dark streets shineth the everlasting light"

Christmas has been a bit subdued for us this year, as you can imagine. I started out strong, wanting to celebrate fully in spite of everything, but it got to be too much - too much work, too much emotional energy, too much brain power (I am seriously limited lately). We did finally get a tree and we did finally put up a few decorations and I've about worn out Pandora's Christmas station, but overall, very subdued. I will post some happy pictures and stuff later, but right now I need to write out some things. 

I've been thinking a lot about the meaning behind Christmas; not in a "the true meaning of Christmas" cliched way, but in the sometimes hard meaning behind Christmas. 

It's very hard to think about celebrating Christmas without my dad. He and my mom were partners in everything that Christmas morning is/was. Traditionally, once we were all awake, the kids would gather at the bottom of the stairs and sing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" at the top of our lungs until Mom came to bring us upstairs. Then we'd be forced to wait while Dad stalled. Sometimes he'd take a shower but usually he made us drink a cup of juice each; one year he used the juicer to make fresh orange juice while we impatiently howled from my parents' room. He was the one with the camera, the one to turn on the Christmas tree lights and the Peggy Lee Christmas CD so that when we marched out to the front room (youngest to oldest), the magical moment was there. It really really hurts to picture all of that without him.

But Christmas is about Christ's birth, and because of his birth, he was able to fulfill his mission, conquer death, and promise hope and life forever. Because he was born, I will see my dad again. Because he came to earth, my family can be together forever, and that is worth celebrating - that is the hope that we hold dear, at this time especially. When I was in England on my Study Abroad, I remember Karla (our program director's wife) describing it as a "terrible hope" as she told us about losing a child. At the time, I turned that phrase over and over to try to understand it. Now I do. Now I see how it is at times a desperate hope; a hope that on bad days, you cling to reflexively; a hope that only becomes so strong and powerful when you have a terrible reason to need it. 

The phrase from Luke 2:10 has rung in my head over and over as I've thought about the hope that Christmas represents: "good tidings of great joy." But oddly, I've also thought a lot about and taken comfort from the not so joyful aspects of Christ's life.

We don't focus on it much, but within two years of that miraculous birth in a stable in Bethlehem, other babies were killed senselessly at the hands of Herod's soldiers. Maybe it was only a dozen or two; maybe it was a hundred or more. No matter how many or few, because of that birth, Bethlehem's mothers lost their baby and toddler boys and had their hearts broken suddenly and without mercy. In a way, they were the first to suffer because of their association with Christ during his lifetime. But even still, "good tidings of great joy" - because of Christ's birth in that tiny town, those mothers could have their hearts healed and be with their sons again.

Though Christ taught and exemplified peace and love and forgiveness, his life was anything but. Once he began his ministry especially, he was often the subject of contention. He was misunderstood, condemned, reviled, hunted, and in the end, killed in violence. And yet, "good tidings of great joy," for that end brought an end to all ends.

My scripture reading coincidentally has placed me at the beginning of 3 Nephi in the last week, so as we've built up to Christmas, I've been getting closer to the coming of Christ to the Nephites. I've been very aware of the timeline during this reading - each year brings the people a little closer to the destruction, the darkness. Even the righteous who do not lose their lives will know the terror of destruction, will lose friends and family, and will not be able to create any light for three days. They will suffer, too, but "good tidings of great joy" await them. Their Savior will visit them personally, will heal every kind of affliction, will pray for them and bless them.

In her talk at my dad's funeral, my mom shared that my dad's view of suffering was that we are mortal, so we suffer. We live in a fallen world, so we suffer. We are friends of Christ, so we suffer. This phrase stayed with me and strangely, perhaps, brings me comfort. Sometimes it feels like it should be the opposite, that as friends of Christ we should be blessed with an easy path, but no. Even Christ's disciples will have to know pain and walk in darkness. And yet - "Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people."

Being pregnant this year, I expected to feel a connection to Mary but it is Christ to whom I have turned again and again. We are friends of Christ, so we suffer, but because of Christ, we hope. That is the meaning of Christmas to me this year. That is what I am celebrating. 

Yet in the dark streets shineth the everlasting light.
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.