And Yet... Thoughts on Holiday Pain

I remember hearing a missionary give a talk years ago. Addressing the matter of God’s provision, this seasoned servant quipped that, in his experience, God is never late but He’s rarely early.

Also embedded in my memory is this observation from a minister whose church I attended when I was very young in my faith. This gentleman, whose name was David, commented that he often noticed the Almighty “singling him out,” as it were – in a good way. He would come across a passage of Scripture or hear something from the pulpit that seemed to be a “Dear David” message. A piece of wisdom or advice that zeroed right in on whatever he was struggling with or working on in his life.

I’m finding the insights of these two leaders quite relevant during what has turned out to be a very bittersweet holiday season. Don’t misunderstand – I’ve lived through downright depressing, even miserable Christmases. Other people’s choices and acts of God find their harsh way into our lives, despite what our culture tells us to expect during a given time frame:

“Christmas means lights and laughter! Valentine’s Day means hearts and happiness! There’s something really wrong with you if you’re not loving life at this moment!”

As though death, demons, and destruction are any respecters of calendars.

Christmas 2025 finds me straddling the line between joy and pain as I grieve with a dear friend who is presently suffering an unimaginable loss. Others around me are coping with similar sorrows. And, folks, have you looked at the news lately? It’s enough to send the jolliest elf right into a full-blown tailspin.

And yet…

“My heart is overflowing with a good theme; I recite my composition concerning the King; My tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” – Psalm 45:1

“Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” – Psalm 46:10

“He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?” – Romans 8:32

Why these verses?

They’re my “Dear Thea” messages from a Mind and Heart which know exactly what my mind and heart are wrestling with. All three of these Scripture gems showed up in my own personal world MORE THAN ONCE in the past week.

Psalm 45:1:

Write, Thea. I’ve given you a voice and the tools to get it out there. Use them when and how I tell you to.

Psalm 46:10:

Thea, I’ve GOT you and everyone and everything around you, despite how things may look. Trust me, like the song says, and rest in my plan, even when it seems ridiculous to do so.

Romans 8:32:

Thea, if I gave up that which was most precious to me for your benefit, I’m certainly not going to skimp on anything else.

I want and need to be held this Christmas, because I’m trying to hold up my fellow man. I know I’m no Atlas, and I’m not trying to be. But how can a person not offer a hand when one of her companions is in danger of sinking?

And yet…

The Lord makes certain promises about how much reign He will let grief have in our lives.

I’m holding Him to those promises.

So, I’m doing each next right thing I know to do. Since tomorrow is the arbitrary deadline we silly humans have set for ourselves to celebrate the immortal becoming mortal for a few decades, I’m going to take care of some ritual essentials. I’ll finish wrapping my packages. I’ll whip up some holiday recipes. Etc., etc., etc.

But I REFUSE to let said rituals destroy my communion with the One we’re supposed to be celebrating. And I REFUSE to endlessly seek some heartwarming feeling that always eludes and always promises more than it can deliver.

Because the Delivery has been made. It arrived 2,000 years ago in a stable. And it mattered – and matters – more than any Hallmark memory or Amazon drop-off ever could.

Our Savior foresaw the ambivalence we would feel at the holidays and all throughout our lives. He knew expectations would go unmet and joy would be tempered with pain. He felt that tension in His own heart while preparing to give His life for our traitorous race.

And yet…

If the trials I’m facing – and those I’m walking through with people I love – are the chisels that render me more like the Savior I strive to emulate, then I will try to yield to the pain without numbing myself. I’ll keep looking for “Dear Thea” love notes wherever He chooses to drop them. And I’ll keep reminding myself that His mercies will always be right on time.

God bless us, everyone.

 

My Take on the Tyranny of the Urgent

I didn't get Monday's to do list finished. Not even close. Lots of loose ends continued dangling, and I added one more for good measure - a popped tire. An act of sheer idiocy on my part - that's all I'm going to say about it.

After AAA came and changed my tire (this was my second claim in as many months - they'd better either make me a stockholder or revoke my membership), I fought off feelings of frustration and tried to work on updating my book proposal for Belabored. 

No, it hasn't yet been published. This is simply the newest iteration of my pitch to hopefully make agents sit up and take notice of a book I believe (if I do say so myself) has great merit and mind-changing potential. 

That said, the proposal at this stage is flatter than my tire was before the AAA guy swapped it with the donut.

Which reminds me - I'm not sure which is falling apart faster, my body or my car's. The tire has now been replaced, but poor Alex has more bumps and bruises than, well, than I do at this point, and that's saying something. My left shoulder is all out of whack, rebelling angrily anytime I tie on an apron or do a jumping jack (then again, my last round of calisthenics happened around the turn of the century, so no worries there). My right wrist, not wanting to be left out, decided to go on strike at the same time. 

But, hey, I can adapt. For instance, I can hold a glass in the left hand while directing traffic with the other. As long as I don't switch up the two, all's well. 

That'll come in handy if I'm ever called upon to bus tables during a pileup.

Getting back to to do lists, Tuesday's didn't fare much better than its predecessor's. In short, life right now is a series of unchecked boxes, a dog paddling routine, a waiting game. Too many agenda items, not all of them essential, but to me they feel important.

Following through on a promise I made to the guy who gave me stellar roadside assistance the other day. Lamenting the fact that I couldn't give him a tip, I took his card and offered to write him a good review. 

Review writing takes time.

Mailing out a check with a tip for the guys who skimmed my friends and me across the back bays of North Cape May last week. The boat ride was enchanting, but we didn't have a dime between us for a tip.

A few dollars, a few more minutes.

Getting this bleeping proposal tweaked and sent off to the publishing house which expressed interest back in June! Admittedly, I haven't just been playing Tiddlywinks all summer; the publisher suggested some market research to gauge interest might make the thing look more appealing to potential agents, so I've been doing that.

Time, time and more time. 

Financial business. Thank goodness I have finances to worry about, but that's just it - if I don't manage them, who will?

Ka ching! Time is money.

Someone once told me when God made time, He made enough of it. If only I could get my gut to agree with my brain on that piece of wisdom.

This blog entry pretty much wrote itself a couple nights ago when yours truly was trying to fall asleep. After taking care of the most pressing priorities, it was either type up my notes for this or work on the proposal.

I didn't even need to flip a coin.

OK, changing gears now. I no longer feel like being amusing (assuming I was successful in that effort in the first place). Having paused the article after that last sentence, I received news of a situation requiring my action in short order. Neither the circumstances nor the deadline excites me; quite the opposite, in fact. I now have a major new obstacle redirecting me from what I thought was my top priority, the book proposal (alright, so I back burnered that in favor of blogging - what of it?). 

I hear myself sounding whiny, and feel disinclined to change my tone. I am whining, doggone it! As I suspect is the case with many writers, it's extremely difficult to rouse oneself into the writing mode when one has gotten out of practice. Perhaps it's like riding a bike in some ways - the skill does come back quickly, but not without a few tumbles and the need to reacquaint oneself with the basic mechanics of the job. When that process keeps getting interrupted, the whole re-learning curve takes that much longer.

The Tyranny of the Urgent comes to mind. I once blogged about that subject, and am feeling the same kind of angst that I did then. 

My mother once pined after Dad was admitted, yet again, to the hospital through the ER, "Where do I go to accept this?"

I find myself reshaping Mom's question thusly: "Where do I go to prioritize all this?" 

The answer was then and still is the same: the cross.

"A man's heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps."

Proverbs 16:9