December has always been a really tough time of year for my family. For many people, December means Christmas - it means gathering with family and getting to spend time making memories.
For my family, it will forever be the month that our dad died.
December 17th, 2013, just 8 days before Christmas, we lost the man who’d supported us and led us through so much. This year, on the exact same day, we lost the woman who raised him, who loved him more deeply in a way none of us would ever be able to understand. This year, on the 17th, they finally were reunited in Heaven with Jesus. And though it is a joyous celebration for them, those of us who loved them so dearly are stuck here grieving those losses...and somehow, the pain this year is so much more raw and real.
I journal my prayers every morning, and this morning I started writing about my dad for the first time in years. I began journaling to God about how life would be if he was still here. Oh, if he could just still be here...
It’d be him seeing me finally diagnosed with celiac disease, and then spending literally hours researching recipes to make me. It’d be him making me gluten-free cake on my birthday every year, and I’m sure working forever to perfect a gluten-free cheesecake. He knew that was my favorite.
It’d be 7 more beautiful necklaces Christmas mornings; he was amazing at gift-giving.
It’d be us giving 7 more Dollar Tree presents. I love that tradition.
It’d be more Steelhead races, fun Michigan vacations with all the Chitwoods, and the NYC trip he planned on us taking. No doubt in my mind that he’d have made beautiful memories out of Covid; if anyone could make Covid fun, it certainly would have been my dad.
It’d be his brother getting him into another race, and watching them finish it together.
It’d be the posting of the colors and football every Sunday, then telling me, “Come watch this new episode of my favorite show!” which, of course, just meant another game.
It’d be decorating the Christmas tree every Friday after Thanksgiving, taping it to make sure that all chaos that ensued would be caught on camera. It’d be the camera getting shut off because one of us was getting a little too inappropriate...usually Jordan, or Payton, or me - somehow never Danni.
It’d be putting up the Nativity every year while reading the Christmas story out of Luke.
It’d be him pulling on his ear during his sermons to tell us he loved us, in a code that only we knew.
It’d be every justification possible to get ice cream to “celebrate,” even if we were only celebrating making it to the weekend.
It’d be him bringing his racing bike into the living room on Friday nights, making it stationary so that he wouldn’t miss family time with us. I always took that for granted.
It’d be him saying, “Calling Dr. Dad!” every time we complained about being sick or hurt.
It’d be him finding a way to celebrate me being another month seizure-free, even if it was just tweeting about it or making a Facebook post.
It’d be seeing him learn to make an Instagram, and definitely trying to make it into every possible TikTok that we made.
It’d be hearing him call mom “Foxy Momma” nearly every day. He loved her so much and so well.
It’d be him getting the church staff to join him in another crazy idea - even Brenda once in a while!
It’d be him following his best friend Bruce into the bathroom to tell him another story, because he had no limits when it came to the people he loved.
It’d be getting to watch him become an uncle to Cruz, who he’d have loved so much.
It’d be him watching all four of his Chitwood nieces and nephews love and care for his own momma so deeply and well.
It’d be watching him pump his fist to the beat of 10,000 Reasons every time Crossbridge played it, seeing him worship Jesus in such a vulnerable way that it showed me that I could be vulnerable, too.
It’d be him watching me marry Ethan, getting to walk me down the aisle like he was supposed to.
It’d be him watching Jordan marry Marissa, and seeing Jo pastor the church he pastored himself.
It’d be him watching Danni, his Peanut, get into cosmetology school, and later piling up clients because she’s just that good.
It’d be him watching Payton marry Caty, and becoming the best preschool teacher there is.
It’d be him watching momma get ordained and loving people more deeply and better than anyone I’ve ever known.
It’d be him watching me change my degree to ministry, chasing that same whisper that he chased.
It’d be his constant hugs, him whispering “I love you kiddo,” every single time.
This year, Christmas seems so much harder - both of these losses on top of Covid feel too overwhelming to bear...
But I’ve watched God make beauty out of ashes too many times to believe He won’t this year, too.
Are you grieving this year? Is this a time of year that weighs heavily on you, too? You are not alone, and you are not without hope. I promise that God can make beauty out of your ashes, too.
“But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep.” (1 Thess. 4:14-16).
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