I always used to feel guilty whenever I didn’t journal frequently as a Christian. It was one of those things I was supposed to do and it tangibly identified my faithfulness in consistency with my “time with God,” as we called it.
I suppose I view this blog as my new journal, although this time I actually have a real audience (as opposed to an omnipotent being that I thought poured over my every written word as I poured over His.) Because of the similarity, I find myself feeling a twinge of guilt at my lack of posts lately. And I feel a need to explain myself, but I’m going to resist that urge because I believe it comes from an unhealthy place of a combination of obsession/compulsion, legalism, and need to please others. Let’s just say this: I haven’t posted lately because, obviously, there were better things for me to do 🙂
Christmas this year was as different than last year as the east is from the west, a phrase used to describe what god used to do to our sins, and something that I believe adequately describes the contrast between December 2013 and 2014.
One year ago I cried in despair, loss, grief, and loneliness at my faith transition and at being overwhelmed, exhausted, and postpartum-ly depressed from a newborn baby. This year, I laughed and smiled at a renewed sense of hope, intimacy with my immediate family, confidence in our future, and absolutely in love with my baby girl and the strength of our relationship. We established new Christmas traditions that didn’t involve the Bible or manger scenes. I could sing Christmas carols without striking my soul with its death. I could celebrate, truly, the season of generosity and love. And warm drinks, candles, egg nog. And Christmas lights, cuddles, kisses, surprises. And holding my baby close to my chest, my husbands arm around mine, walking around the city. Enjoying our family. Grateful for life.
One moment of darkness did manage to creep in on Christmas night. The thought of no life after death enveloped me like the cold, dark wind outside. Suddenly I felt terrified of dying, and incidentally, of living. The moment lasted about 15 minutes before joy returned. I’d take those 15 minutes in order to have my present overall freedom. But no afterlife, no eternal anything, still haunts me from time to time. What’s the point of everything, of anything?? It’s difficult for me to conceptualize that life no longer is because, but just is, and will one day no longer be.
Merry Christmastime dear friends.