Christmas Eve Thoughts

It is midnight, and so it is officially Christmas Eve Day. My childhood memories of Christmas Eve are very dear and special. In my family, this was the day we had a special dinner for just the four of us (My Mom, Dad, Sister, and me), and then we each opened one gift. There is a kind of rosy, golden glow around the memory of this time; it all seemed so cozy and peaceful. My father read the entire book A Christmas Carol throughout the Christmas season when we were little, and the last chapter was saved for Christmas Eve. My sister and I would sit on either side of my dad, and laugh and listen as he performed all the different voices for the book's characters. He did a really rockin'. gravely"scroogy" voice for Ebenezer Scrooge. When we were older, we took turns reading, and my dad always made us feel quite proud of our steadily improving reading ability. All in all, wonderful memories.



I had every intention of keeping these traditions alive when I had my own children, but after Ian was diagnosed, all my interest and motivation for doing this withered away. I could have done it for my daughter, but the distraction of chasing and monitoring Ian would have made this almost impossible. Looking back, I know I went through a very prolonged depression, and I felt (erroneously) that "this is not a REAL or complete family" after my son's diagnosis. I felt cheated. I did not feel this on a conscious level, but I know now that I carried this belief deep in my heart for a long, long time. Of course, in reality, we had just as "real" a family as anyone else, but I just could not accept that our family was "different." My lack of acceptance and trust in God significantly delayed my ability to feel joy with the family I was given. The chronic exhaustion from sleep-deprivation probably delayed it also.

There were lots of moments of joy, particularly with my daughter's "normal" milestones and reactions, but there was so much resistance to experiencing the moments of joy and blessing that came with having a "different" child. It is mentally draining to continually resist what "is", and wish for things to be different. One of my biggest regrets is that I didn't fully trust the Lord, abandon the template of what I thought a family "should" look like, and embrace the joy and happiness He so wanted to give me with the situation and family I had. I kept on and on wanting it all to go away have NORMAL.  I didn't consciously feel that at the time; I thought I was accepting the situation just fine, but looking back I can see how much I "faked it", and didn't really, truly embrace it. I am committed to doing that now. I have abandoned my life to Jesus, and He can do with me just what he wishes, and I think He wishes for me to seek the joy that is so alive and present in the family that I have. My Ian with all his quirks, his sensitivities, his unique experience of life---all this is a GIFT to me, if I just accept it as such.

So here is what is happening today: I will pick up Ian from his group home, and bring him to our house for a few hours of spoiling and loving, and watching his reactions as he opens his gifts. He usually enjoys the process of opening gifts more than the gift itself, and today I will love that. I will love his running around and doing all the things he likes to do at our house---listening to music on the computer, watching  videos, jumping on our bed, and simply allow events to unfold naturally. My daughter will be here with my granddaughter, so it should be lively. We are having breakfast for dinner: pancakes, scrambled eggs, scrambled tofu (we are vegetarians), hashbrowns, and fruit salad. We will be a FAMILY---perhaps not a picture postcard family, but the unique and love-filled family that God has given us. And I will be grateful. Happy Birthday Jesus; thank you for being patient with me, and thank you for helping me learn the lessons I need to learn, no matter how long it takes.

Here is a picture of Ian playing with a toy he opened last Christmas: