The Thrill of Hope

The holidays are hard for so many people. They remind you of a difficult childhood, of a broken marriage, or a child gone astray. Christmas somehow so poignantly reminds us of what we don't have, or what we've lost, of what we're missing. It's strange, isn't it? That's certainly not the purpose of Christmas, and yet it happens every year.

For infertile women, Christmas can be incredibly difficult. Christmas seems to be wrapped and twisted and tied up around children, which is wonderful, and beautiful, and so special if you have them. It's when you don't have children, and yet it is your greatest desire to do so, that Christmas morphs into this great big mirror reflecting back to you what you don't have. It's kind of like in Harry Potter with that mirror, the Mirror of Erised... Harry, who has never seen his mother and father together, who has never felt their warm embrace, who has never seen them smile at him, sees his family together again. The Mirror shows him the single, deepest desire of his heart. For an infertile woman, Christmas acts as that mirror. All around us, the families are making memories and starting traditions. Children anticipate Santa, they make reindeer food, bake Santa cookies, read Twas the Night before Christmas; they decorate a birthday cake for Jesus, count down the days, and awake each morning to see where a (creepy) little elf has gone. These are all things that we have wanted to do with our own children for so long, and yet we simply watch other families enjoy these times together. For some, the image is more real for they came so close to the dream. Christmas becomes a marker of "my baby would have been 9 months, or my baby would have been 3 years".

For me, this could have been our second Christmas with our son or daughter... we could have had a nineteen month old child to celebrate with this year. I look at Christmas and I clearly see what could have been. My loss was years ago, and yet at Christmas it is somehow more new, more raw, more apparent than at other times of the year. I can't help but think of my friends who will experience their first Christmas after a loss, be that a miscarriage, a still birth, or a failed adoption. In every situation there was hope that THIS Christmas would be different, but instead it is more of the same with a lot more pain.

And yet despite all the sadness and the pain, for some reason, Christmas also gives us renewed hope. I'm not sure if that has to do with the closing of another year and the hope of the next... kind of a "2013 wasn't what we hoped, but 2014 might be" kind of thing. Or maybe it has more to do with the Christmas story. The birth of Jesus was the fulfillment of a promise made hundreds of years before... maybe it is the idea of fulfilled promises that renews our hope. But hope is hard, oh so hard. It's dangerous. It leaves us vulnerable. It opens us up to new wounds and lays bear our old scars. It is so very difficult to keep hoping year after year. In fact, we often look foolish for hoping for so long. "The thrill of hope"... ironic really. I don't think the Hebrew people would have described waiting as a "thrill". No, it wasn't until the promise was fulfilled that it became a thrill, not until "the weary world" rejoiced that this hope became something to sing about.

For those of you who have been blessed with the gift of a child, snuggle them extra close tonight. I know they're driving you bonkers with the Santa tracker and the carrots for Rudolph. I know that you'll be up at an unholy hour in the morning after putting together some crazy toy with 8,000 parts into the wee hours of the night. But these are the days that memories are made, so make them good.

And for those of you still waiting, still hurting, still praying, I am hoping for you. I am so incredibly hopeful for so many of you that your time is coming. May there be babies and bumps galore this time next year! Abiding with you, my friends!

Merry Christmas to you all!