It seems like only yesterday. It seems like a lifetime ago.
I’m probably not really unique among the throngs of mankind when I pause, take a look back and marvel at the passage of time. My kids are all grown with children of their own, and it feels as though I’m mislabeled in my generation. I belong where they (my kids) are, at least that’s what I sometimes fool myself into believing. However, the thought of keeping up with toddlers or teenagers on a constant day-to-day basis brings me back to reality with a firm sense of gratitude for my current stage of life, my dissatisfaction with everything I’ve failed to accomplish thus far notwithstanding.
I consider myself blessed far beyond what I deserve. Each of our two daughters and three sons seem to be well adjusted with a spouse who loves them and, miraculously, seems to love, accept and appreciate what they married into. When they come home to celebrate holidays or brand or wean or preg check cows, they ignore the surliness of the straw boss and somehow manage to exhibit something far beyond a mere tolerance for the parents and in-laws. And all of this pales significantly next to the light the latest generation sheds on the family tree. The glare of the flaws of their parents is miraculously dulled by the light that comes with the grandchildren.
As with any family, no doubt, the good times for us are not without interruption – and there were, and probably will be in the future, times when despair cast its long, heavy shadow between us and the ever-present light. At the risk of overstating the difficulties and disappointment that accompany every person’s life, it’s wise to remember that darkness and, dare I say, evil never sleeps. It can exert its influence at any time, but it revels in our complacency.
Many years ago one of our daughters, as a child, became a victim of abuse at the hands of a non-family member. For years, as we tried to navigate a wild river we’d never imagined would flood its banks and kidnap our lives, we were sometimes tossed overboard into the grip of its icy, unrelenting current. During those times, the lifeline to the raft, though always there, was not always easy to see and harder yet to grab. I sometimes found myself being flung from shore to shore by the current, often losing sight of the hope that offered me my only chance at deliverance.
Somehow in the midst of those storms of life, on a rough and winding trail, a father lost in his own struggles remarkably connected with his obstinate, independent and troubled teenage daughter. And though the healing was not instantaneous but, instead, a yearslong process, the healing came nonetheless. None of us were strangers to sorrow, pain and regret. Yet through the sometimes-agonizing process, we became intimately acquainted with redemption, forgiveness and peace.
My family’s story, though certainly unique to us, is not singular in its place in the grander scheme. Every family, every person, every single one of us, though walking our own particular path, still at the same time travels the same road. I believe it’s our duty to help each other as we stumble along that road. I think that’s what God intends for His children. That’s why we flounder and struggle and get in each other’s way. Our extremities are His opportunities. Through my own experiences, I’ve marveled at how cracked and broken hearts, when brought together, can mend each other and bring light to all that’s around them. That’s a part of the Christmas miracle that started with the birth of Him whom we honor at this most wonderful time of year. May He give you peace and mend your broken hearts as you, and those you love, remember Him this year at the celebration of His birth.
Merry Christmas.
