The closer we get to Christmas day the more impatient I’m becoming with well-meaning people who are attempting to tell me how I should feel – or at the very least, how they think I should feel. Some of these wonderful friends are speaking out of their own pain and loss and experience but others are making assumptions. So, would you allow me to get on a gift-wrapped soap box for a few paragraphs? If you are one of those who have so kindly called or written, please don’t take offense. My feelings aren’t hurt.

The birth of Christ was not a time of sentiment with warm fuzzy feelings, hot cocoa, a nice orchestra, and lots of food. Joseph and Mary were under the King’s orders to travel to Bethlehem and it was a grueling journey. For three to five days Mary – who was about to have a baby – walked, rode, and stumbled along a path.

There were no Super 8 motels along the way, no paved road, no rest areas with toilets. They must’ve stopped often looking for a tree or rock Mary could lean against to urinate. Most likely they looked in vain for clean, fresh water using only what they carried in old, stinky skins or moldy jars. The risk of thieves, storms, and cold only added to the discomfort of the impending labor and birth of Mary’s first child.

Was her mother there? A sister maybe? Probably not since Mary got pregnant out of wedlock and brought shame on her whole family, they most likely stayed away as if she’d had leprosy. We know there wasn’t a hospital; instead they found themselves in a stable. No running water, no electricity, no space heater to chase away the chilly night air. There were “meadow muffins” and “cow pies” on the ground and some of them were fresh enough to throw off steam – the smell must’ve been overwhelming.

The whole situation was untenable. None of us would’ve stuck it out. We can’t even begin to imagine the pain and disappointment and loneliness. Mary and Joseph must certainly have wondered where God was in all this. Why now? Why here? We could go on to describe the poverty, hardship and rejection that Joseph and Mary and Jesus endured in those first few days but nothing we can imagine comes close.

This year God is allowing me a new appreciation for the incarnation. It was far from romantic, nostalgic and sentimental. The events surrounding the birth of Jesus were difficult and full of disappointment and pain. Christmas has taken on a new, deeper meaning. If Mary and Joseph and even Jesus as a baby were not spared hardship and difficulty, why would I expect anything else?

I can’t explain away the reality of grief or the myriad of ways I miss Lois but I do know that God is more real than I have ever experienced. His presence and power shove the clichés out of the way and strengthen my resolve to “come near to God “so He will “come near to” me. (see James 4:8)

When Paul wrote in Romans 8 that nothing will separate us from the love of Christ – not "trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword" – he was writing to me and you. Yes, he was also referring to struggles that were dangerously real to him but those words are for me. We are more than conquerors in hardship and sorrow, not because it isn’t painful, nor because God will somehow make it vanish, but because none of these things can take away what we have of God through Jesus Christ. God’s love and presence and comfort is more permanent than famine or suffering. It’s stronger than death, as unyielding as the grave. How do I put this in writing without tears and trembling? How do I explain this new appreciation of Christmas?

I’ve had many gracious emails, phone calls, and notes from those who were concerned about me, and our whole family, celebrating Thanksgiving last week without Lois. I appreciate the concern, notes of encouragement, prayer and love that people continue to extend to our whole family. It is yet another example of the “body of Christ” living together and gives me the opportunity to share my personal experience of Thanksgiving 2009.

First, giving thanks was not difficult – just different. I found myself thanking God for what Lois is no longer dealing with. No more Chemo infusions! The Chemo “cold” with its dripping nose and clogged sinuses is gone. The neuropathy – the constant tingling in her hands and feet – has ended and the microwave is no longer heating up a rice bag every hour. There’s no more gradual hair loss to contend with, no more CT scans, no port to flush and keep clean, no need to sort a score of pill bottles. No more pain.

Second, spending time with the whole family was not a constant reminder that Lois was not there – just different. We all gathered at Joy and Tony’s house – all 29 of us! It was great fun to try to polish off enough food for 50 people. The kids had fun together and the adults sat around and talked for hours. Lois did enter the conversation at times but not in a mournful way. Instead, there were comments of fond memories.

Third, I didn’t experience any intense loneliness – just a different sense that I no longer had a partner to share with. I didn’t find that disconcerting or troubling but found a different kind of freedom. I arrived at Joy’s house when I felt like it – didn’t check with anyone about the schedule – and I left when I wanted to and didn’t wait for Lois to finish dishes or a conversation or . . .

Did I miss Lois? Yes, of course. But I am committed to trusting God more than I miss my wife. And I remember that Thanksgiving is about Him not me. So I join with David who praised the Lord with these words:

"Praise be to you, O LORD, God of our father Israel, from everlasting to everlasting. Yours, O LORD, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the majesty and the splendor, for everything in heaven and earth is yours. Yours, O LORD, is the kingdom; you are exalted as head over all. Wealth and honor come from you; you are the ruler of all things. In your hands are strength and power to exalt and give strength to all. Now, our God, we give you thanks, and praise your glorious name.” (1 Chronicles 29:10-13)