In the Bleak Midwinter
TW // sexual violence, trauma response
In the days before Christmas, I found myself in need of resurrection.
My innocence had died on Christmas Eve twenty-four years prior. Over two decades later, I was still trying to reconcile the glorious joy of the season with my bleak insides and the tears that welled up and tried to catch me unawares.
That Sunday before Christmas, my church held a candlelight caroling event at a plaza downtown. Strains of music spilled across the open space dotted with candle glow and folding chairs. A string of colored bulbs festooned the children’s craft area. And the South African lilt of the pastor’s voice carried bright-eyed energy. My eyes scanned the tables laden with hot chocolate packets, mini marshmallows, candy canes, and cookies. A bright purple lanyard with a “How Can I Help” tag hung around my neck. On the outside, I was a welcoming volunteer who replenished styrofoam cups and distributed candles and programs. On the inside, I was eager for any excuse to keep moving. Standing still would have forced me to reckon with the creeping anxiety, the constant ache of a trauma-triggered brain, and the dull weight of sadness that simultaneously pressed me down and covered me with a thick mantle of hollowness. When I had the awareness not to numb myself out, I found solace in the prayer put forth in the Abiding Together podcast: “Jesus, be born in me.”
The same Jesus who met humanity in all His vulnerability met me in all of mine.
This year, my Christmas commingled with Easter. Not all at once, like the flash of the heavenly host over a hill of scraggly sheep tenders. But gradually, in small ways, with a via dolorosa eventually giving way to glory.
December 23rd was undoubtedly the most difficult–replete with a constant headache, sudden tears, and engulfing exhaustion. Yet, God met me there. That morning, I turned to hula as a lifeline. As I swayed into How We Worship by New Hope Oahu and The Prayer by Ho’okena, I gave thanks for the opportunity to craft something beautiful–something worshipful–through my body with every kalākaua. Then came breakfast. With spam, rice, and eggs on hand, I was able to create a meal that declared “belonging” with every bite of umami goodness. Reading passages from Diane Langberg’s Suffering and the Heart of God called me back to what is real. And a family outing to see “Wicked” at the Pantages beckoned me into a story resounding with beauty, goodness, and truth. That day, the Lord reminded me that He came small and vulnerable so He could meet with me in a way my four year-old self could understand.
On Christmas Eve–the anniversary of that day that altered the rest of my life–God met me with His gift of presence. Instead of “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani [Aramaic for ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’],” my heart felt steadied by His unshakeable confidence. Sure, there were remnants of grave clothes as I braced myself for the annual family gathering. But the evening proved to be one steeped in invigorating conversations and connections with loved ones. By the end of the night, I was aglow with joy for the coming day, fingers of resurrection dawn finding their way into my heart.
Christmas Day burst forth with celebration. Upon waking, I was whisked into the excited glee of my husband’s family. We lit the Advent wreath and read sacred Scriptures, opened stockings, paused for a “first breakfast” of cereal and milk, opened the rest of the gifts, pranked my in-laws by “gifting” each other items stolen from around the house, and settled into “second breakfast.” Sickness had swept over my family, so my husband and I dropped off their gifts, picked up ours, and bridged the distance through FaceTime. Steaming pho and a slow evening with my husband rounded out the day. Though past Christmases have held joy, this one felt different. This Christmas, I felt free to revel fully in togetherness, unhurried time, and good gifts–a far cry from where I had been a few days prior. Silver light radiated from a great star. The stone had been rolled away from the tomb. “Emmanuel” did not feel like something I had to clutch ever-so-tightly in my head; God With Us had played out before my eyes and nestled within my heart.
