Five years ago around Christmas, I gave a plate of fresh cookies to our neighbors. They invited me inside to chat and I spent the majority of time talking to their daughter. She lost her newborn son that year and it was traumatic and unfair. Something I admired about her was her sandpaper way of telling the truth. She didn’t care if it rubbed you the wrong way or poked holes in your worldview, she was going to be honest. That night she said, “God and I are taking a break from our relationship because I’m pissed off.”
I smiled and nodded. It was refreshing, really, to hear someone say out loud what so many people keep hidden inside.
She said, “Even if you gave me one million dollars, it wouldn’t make me happy. I feel myself going back into a depression and I hate it.” I get that feeling, when you look around and wonder why life is working out for everyone else except you.
A few tears slipped down her cheeks and she gazed into the kitchen.
I know that gaze. I saw it in my friend’s eyes as she walked through an overwhelming divorce. I saw it in an old manager’s eyes as he talked about leaving a church he helped build. I’ve seen it my own eyes over the years.
That gaze reveals how unkind life can be; how desperate and lonely and sad a human heart can feel.
Then there’s Christmas.
The most *wonderful* time of the year for some. For others, every nostalgic song might as well be salt in their deepest wound. Maybe that’s you this year. Maybe that’s been you for the last five years.
Something I’ve noticed in my adult years is how uncomfortable we are with each other’s pain. We try to fix it, downplay it, ignore it, Pollyanna it… anything except sit with it. It’s vulnerable to be present to someone else’s pain without agenda. To bear witness to someone’s sadness without making sure they know God has a plan— which, let’s be honest, is more often than not our way of alleviating our own discomfort rather than offering genuine comfort to another.
This year, a lot of people I know are in deep pain with “the big stuff”: cancer, miscarriages, legal battles, financial stress, mental health crises, etc.
A lot of people I don’t know are in crisis, too, from Gaza to Ukraine and beyond.
This is life. It always has been and always will be— our awareness just keeps growing which makes things complicated. I know there is much to be grateful for and much to find joy in. And there is so much to grieve.
So if you’re swallowed up by sadness, I hope you hear this: It’s okay to be sad when everyone else seems happy. Lots of them are sad, too, they just aren’t saying it. You’re not crazy or a buzzkill. I hope you are not afraid to show up this holiday season, even if it makes other people uncomfortable.
One thing I know is that Jesus is not uncomfortable because of you, and he’s not afraid of you “ruining” the Christmas season. My neighbor offered me a gift with her honesty. She gave me space to see her in her pain. And I saw God there. Like a river rushes to the lowest parts of a canyon, I saw God’s presence rush to meet her grief. I felt God’s nearness as I bore witness to her pain.
It’s impossible to ruin Christmas because it’s not about glee- it’s about God being with us through hell and high water. If you’re willing to open your heart to real pain and deep sadness, experiencing the nearness of God, you’ll find yourself closer to the spirit of Christmas than Saint Nick ever could be. You’ll be in the presence of God.
Sending my love to you.
-Savannah
This is so beautiful and insightful. Thanks for helping me see in a new way.
I lost one of my younger brothers 10 years ago weeks before Christmas. And the holidays have never really been the same since. I used to think growth meant not being sad about it anymore. And now, I think it's more of letting myself be sad and resting in the fact that the sadness doesn't "ruin" the joy. Joy and sadness don't have to compete with each other. They don't cancel each other out. There's space for both of them to be. And now in the moments when I experience that sadness, I'm just grateful that I also feel the joy instead of simply being overwhelmed with grief.