Wishing You a Peace-Filled Christmas

"Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," I said to the lady at the check-out counter.  I forced a smile, feeling the irony of the words hanging in the air as I grabbed my bags and headed out to my car.  Instead of bringing joy like they normally did, these recited and all-too-prevalent words brought pain.  It was Christmastime, and I wasn't merry.  Merry means joyful, even jovial, but with my little baby about to have open heart surgery,  my heart was continually aching and worried.

I understood the proverb that there is a time and a season to everything in life.  Some Christmases are merry; some are not.  Some have the potential to break our hearts.  But I also believed that the spirit of Christmas is real--tangible--and it comes because of the Savior of the world.  I wondered how that Spirit could touch my heart this Christmas, if there seemed to be no room for joy there.

I found my answer in a few simple Christmas traditions.  With four little kids, we couldn't just do nothing for Christmas, so in a way that was a blessing.  They helped me to press on when I didn't feel I could.  The first thing we did as a family was service.  The things we did were simple, like bringing a plate of cookies to someone who was lonely, but as we did those things that we knew Jesus would do at this time of year, the most amazing miracle happened:  my heart was not troubled, even if for just a moment.  I was filled with peace.

I also found peace in leading the children in our church congregation in singing Christmas hymns.  Their angelic voices and hope-filled faces brought tears to my eyes and comfort to my soul.

The last tradition is one that I did with my own family every Christmas.  We have 25 pictures of the Savior's life and ministry, death and resurrection, and each day of December, we talk about a picture and then hang it somewhere in our house.  When my heart was heavy, I would see these pictures on the wall.  I would look into the face of my Savior and hear these words:


"Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."


"These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world."


"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men!"


I left the pictures up until after J's surgery, and two of the pictures stayed up the whole year:  A picture of Mary and Martha with Jesus, and a picture of Jesus on a ship, calming the storm.  The blessings of peace I felt were so real.  In those moments, I knew that everything would work out--that even if they didn't work out the way I wanted them to and the pain seemed too great to bear, the Savior would bear my load with me, and someday, all would be made right.  This blessing of peace and assurance was the greatest gift I received last Christmas.

To all who may have a heavy heart this Christmas, for whatever reason, I wish you a peace-filled Christmas.  I know for a fact that moments of peace can come to all, in whatever circumstances, if we will seek after the One whose birth we celebrate--the Savior of the world.

The Birth of Friends of the Heart

Some of us, like my sweet son, J, are born with big hearts.  Others need "stretching experiences" to help our hearts grow and learn.  If you couldn't guess, I am one of the latter.  And J's genetically large heart has helped me to discover the depths of my own soul.

Last Christmas was a Christmas unlike any other.  It was a time spent pondering, aching, praying, and preparing the best we could for tiny J's open heart surgery, which was scheduled just a few weeks after Christmas.  My heart was full of a million new emotions which I cannot even begin to describe.  I felt longing, anxiety, fear, peace, joy in the moment like never before, and gratitude, but most poignant was the ache I felt for my child – the ache of dreams that would not be realized, of a future different than the one I'd always envisioned, of the possible chance of losing this child in his youth.  Even though none of these were yet a reality, I felt like something great had been lost.

When I opened up all the boxes of Christmas decorations, I discovered a simple ornament I had bought at the dollar store the year before, thinking I might give it to one of my children sometime.  It was a blown glass angel holding a heart.  I felt this ornament was a love note from the Lord, as He had foreseen where I would be that Christmas.  I knew that that ornament was for J.  I gave it to him for Christmas with a little note:

"This angel ornament is my special gift to you this Christmas, as a reminder that you are an angel to your family with a big heart.  It is also to remind you that angels will be with you as you go through your surgeries on your precious little heart.  I love you, and your family loves you!  Merry Christmas!"

 

A few weeks later, we spent a lot of time in the hospital before and after J's surgery.  I felt like my heart was being stretched to its limit, and, as I looked around at the other babies and children and families that were there, I felt a great love and aching for all of them.  We met people we knew and people we didn't know in the cardiac ICU, and my heart nearly broke for them.  We didn't talk much, given our circumstances, but I feel like they will be my friends forever.  There have also been others among our family and friends who have had babies with heart problems since we found out about J, and I feel a special kinship to them.

When all was said and done and J had recovered from his surgery, I realized that this new stretching of my heart has given me empathy – feelings I never could have understood unless I experienced them myself.  And now, every time I hear of a parent grieving for a child, I feel some of that same ache I felt (and sometimes still feel) for J.  Over the months, I kept thinking of and praying for those sweet families with babies with heart issues, and the phrase "friends of the heart" has continually come into my mind.  I feel like our babies' hearts have stretched our hearts and bound them together in love.  More than that, I feel like this experience is something that needs to be shared, so other hearts can be touched by the goodness of the Lord.

This Christmas, I found a new tender ornament of an angel holding a heart, and I knew it was the one I wanted to share with these special "friends of the heart."  Some of these friends have grieved more deeply than I can comprehend as their little angels have been called Home.  Others, like us, have been blessed with the gift of another year of life.  Still others are waiting, worrying, praying – in the same position we were in last Christmas. 

 

I believe that these babies with physically imperfect hearts have amazing spirits and the power to bless hearts all over the world.  I hope that in sharing their stories, others will be able to find the gifts of friendship, hope, healing, and love and join our circle of friends of the heart.