There it is again – the twinge in my gut, the tightness in my chest. The dull ache that can’t be soothed, a gentle sadness during this most joyous time of year.

It’s a sense of longing, whose source I cannot identify. A yearning deep within for…what? There’s an empty hole in my soul, seeking to be filled. What is it that will still the turmoil? The simpler times of childhood Christmases? I reach into the foggy mist of Christmases past, grasping for a long ago memory to settle the upheaval.

My heart wants to be filled with the awe and wonder that would come each Christmas morning as we peeked under the tree…with each Christmas service singing Silent Night, Holy Night. My heart wants to be filled with traditions past, that are passed no more. The wooden bowl full of nuts; the smell of fresh tangerines; the huge peppermint stick, broken into pieces and meted out one small chunk at a time.

Is this hole in my soul, this hurt…is it for the Christmas traditions long forgotten? Or for the memories so precious? This nostalgia always brings an ache. And rightly so. Nostalgia is from the Greek “nostos”, homecoming, and “algos”, pain.

The pain of homecoming. Only to find the house vacant. Life changes. Divorce leaves holes, death leaves empty spaces. Life’s circumstances leave ragged edges like wrapping paper torn and tossed. This longing that pierces me: is it a longing for all the “should haves?” I should have tried harder…I should have visited more often. Is my soul subconsciously grieving for opportunities lost?

“…they meant to reassure themselves that nothing now was really changed, that things were as they always had been, and as they always would be, forever and ever, amen. But they were wrong. They did not know that you can’t go home again.” Thomas Wolfe, You Can’t Go Home Again.

It’s good to remember the past, to learn from it, to have fond memories. But to camp there, pining away for what is no more, is to waste precious time of the here and now…the time to make new memories and begin new traditions. At some point, it’s time to turn and move forward.

But the Lord says, “Do not cling to events of the past or dwell on what happened long ago. Watch for the new thing I am going to do. It is happening already—you can see it now! I will make a road through the wilderness and give you streams of water there.”
Isaiah 43:18-19 (GNT)

And so this year, I will remember Christmas Past with great fondness. But I will live in Christmas Present, the here and now, looking up in anticipation of Christ’s birth. Waiting. For. Him.

My emptiness is a longing “for Jesus, who makes precisely what none of us can but all of us want: Christmas.” (Ann Voskamp, The Greatest Gift)

This year, I will dwell on Jesus. I will ponder the miracle of His birth. Will you join me?

Merry Christmas!

 

 

 

 

Linking up with these lovely writers:

Kelly Ballarie – Purposeful Faith

Barbie Swihart – The Weekend Brew

Holley Gerth – Coffee for You Heart

Hazel Moon – Tell Me a True Story

Holly Barrett – Testimony Tuesday

Jennifer Dukes Lee – Tell His Story

 

In many ways it made perfect sense that I would have a rock in my ear…

THA-THUNK…THA-THUNK…THA-THUNK… I’d crossed this bridge a thousand times before. Today, the creaking and groaning of old wooden boards caused me to pause. Fond childhood memories washed over me at the smell of the tall pines and the symphony I was hearing.

Stopping in the middle of the bridge, I listened to the music: Warbling birds were the lead singers, while chirping crickets played backup; turtles plopped into the water, adding a rhythmic beat. Seeing the lazy water of the bayou, smelling tar on the wooden bridge, listening to nature’s concert, took me back to a simpler time…

 

When I was a child, there were no electronic games to amuse me. Entertainment consisted of exploring my neighborhood, yard and street. Ordinary things delighted me, like popping the tar bubbles on the asphalt street. Pure, simple joy came from bursting those bubbles with a rock.

The heat of the day would give way to afternoon showers. The street gutter became an overflowing river. I launched many leaf-boats into that gushing river. Running along the banks (our yard), I would watch the leaf-boat swiftly ride the white water rapids until it came to its final destination – the drain on the corner. There it disappeared, never to be seen again.

Then there was the time I got a rock stuck in my ear. Yes, really! A rock in my ear! We had pebbles at the edge of our yard. I picked up handfuls and let them fall through my fingers to the street. The stones clicked like hail hitting a window.

Wouldn’t it be really cool to hear the rocks louder? It made perfect sense to me! I scooped up a handful, turned my head sideways and let them fall through my fingers, into my ear. The mini rock slide sounded like an avalanche!

I turned my head the opposite way, so the rocks could fall out. Don’t you know, one of them got stuck! The harder I tried to get it out of my ear, the tighter it lodged. I had gotten myself into a bind. I thought Mama and Daddy would kill me! So, I did what any five year old would do: Nothing. I didn’t say a word.

 

That evening, after my bath, Mama was using a q-tip to dry my ears. She felt something hard.

“What’s that in your ear?”

I shrugged. Maybe she would lose interest.

She called for Daddy to look. When I saw him with the flashlight, I knew I was in trouble. The light shining in my ear clearly revealed my secret. The rock.

“How on earth did you get a rock in your ear?”

Another shrug. I really, really hoped they would get tired and go to bed. No such luck. Finally I had to confess: I just wanted to hear what a rock slide would sound like up close and personal!

At that moment, I’m pretty sure they wondered if I had been switched at birth…

These little tales of mine record my memories and help me see and recall my childhood. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good! I am thankful to God for that.

Why take the time to record these stories? Why should you record yours?

Scripture tells us to remember:

Do not let these memories escape from your mind as long as you live! (Deuteronomy 4:9)

Tell your children about it in the years to come, and let your children tell their children. Pass the story down from generation to generation. (Joel 1:3)

When the Lord stopped the flowing waters of the Jordan River so the people of Israel could cross, they marked the spot with stones. These stones were their memorial marker. They would use them as a reminder of what the Lord had done. (Joshua 4:6-9)

The Lord God routed the Philistines before Israel. Samuel placed a stone to commemorate God’s victory over the enemy. It was named Ebenezer – the stone of help. (1 Samuel 7:12)

Every story I write, every blog I post, is a marker, remembering what the Lord has done in my life…the things He’s done for me and through me. They remind me of His faithfulness and His help.

These stories of God working in my life can be passed down from generation to generation, for everyone to see and know this: The Lord is good! As He has been good to me, so He will be good to you, if you will trust in Him!

Each story is an Ebenezer stone. Sometimes it gets stuck in my mind, but never in my ear!

Linking up today with Hazel, over at Tell Me A True Story blog party!