When Your Family Holidays Are Unrecognizable Now

For almost 37 years, Terry and her husband built a

life together, and the holidays looked pretty much the same

every year. The smells from the kitchen, the way the house

filled up when everyone arrived. Then, in the fall of 2019, a

terminal illness took him, and the first Christmas came anyway.

She barely remembers it. she thinks she put up a treat, but

she can't say for sure how she managed it. The lights and the

music she used to love only stirred up everything she had

lost. home now felt unsteady under her feet. The truth was,

the Christmas she knew was gone with him, and she had no idea

how to do the next one. We'll come back to what she found on

the other side of that. But first,

welcome to Daily Devotions for Busy Lives. I'm Bart Leger. Our

first Christmas after Catherine's passed away, we did

the day. The tree went up, people came, and there was a

hole in the middle of it that nobody said out loud. I kept

waiting for it to start feeling like Christmas, and it never

quite got

first year is the one that takes everything out of you. Saying

that to somebody and living it in your own house are two

different things. The holidays you grew up with are not the

holidays you have now. A parent died or marriage ended. Your

grown children moved across the country, and now they rotate

years with the in-laws. The table you used to gather around

no longer exists, and the one you used to sit at now can feel

like a smaller, sadder version of the original. Here's what

makes lonesome. do. The kids are fine, somebody put music on, and

you're standing in the kitchen remembering how many people used

to be in this house on this day. The psalmist wrote about weeping

and joy. It's in Psalm 35.

Joy comes in the morning. Look at what David hands you there. A

night in the morning. That's a pattern he had watched God keep.

A pattern that tells you what happens without telling you when.

People use this verse as a promise that relief shows up on

a schedule. But David's making a bigger claim than that, and I

believe, a slower one. He wrote this after coming through

something so he knew what a long night was. What he gives you is

the assurance that the weeping has an end to it somewhere, and

that God has been in the business of bringing mornings

for a long time now. And notice the order he puts them in.

Weeping comes first. David doesn't rush past it or

apologize for it, and you don't have to either. So cry about

what ended. The holiday you grew up with was something. It

deserves to be missed. Grieving is the price of having love to

the people who used to be at the table. Then look at how God

tends to work on the other side of a loss. He rebuilds, and what

he rebuilds rarely matches the blueprint of what stood there

before. Different house. Same

leaves room for one or two you've never done before. Terry

didn't try to force the old Christmas

Christmas back to life, and she didn't cancel it either. Little

by little, she kept some of the traditions that still meant

something and let go of the ones that only hurt. She started

building a few new ones. She wrote later that she wanted the

grace and courage to enjoy the life God still gives, even

changed, even with the empty chair. The holidays never went

back to what they were, but joy, the kind that rejoices in spite

of the grief, started finding its way back to her table. Look

at the road Terry took. Two easy options were open to her that

first year. Forced the old Christmas to happen exactly as

it always had, or call the whole thing off. She took neither one,

and what she did instead was slow unglamorous work. And look

at the word she used, the grace and courage to enjoy the life

God still gives. Still gives. Present tense. She was not

finished being given things. Here's today's Here's today's

challenge. Before the holidays get there, take 20 minutes and

go through your traditions on paper. Write down what you're

keeping and write down what you're setting down this year.

Give yourself permission on that second

table and who you're grieving. He already knows. Something

happens when you say it to him anyway.

people through the night. You have never rushed a grieving

person. For everybody listening who is looking at the holiday

that doesn't remember the one they grew up with, be at the

table with them and give them the grace and the courage to

enjoy what you still give. Thank you for filling in your time the

way you always have. In Jesus' name. Amen. If you need prayer

today, I'd love to hear from you. You can leave me a voicemail at

DailyDevotionsForBusyLives.com slash voicemail. I listen to

every single one, and it would be an honor to bring your name

before the Lord. Thanks for joining me on Daily Devotions

for Busy Lives. Remember, weeping gets its own line in

that verse, and so does the morning. Grieve the table you

lost and let God set a new one. Come back next time for more

encouragement to help you live grounded in God's truth. Until

then, God bless and have a great day.