As I've gotten older, the tone of the song, "silver bells" has changed for me. I used to envision those smiling faces and hear the children's laughter its lyrics recall. I once heard those silver bells resounding deep and clear bringing in the excitement of the season. But now...now my mind can't help but focus on those other words...words in the song like "busy" and "rush". That's what Christmas has become for most of us. While we bustle to meet the expectations set by seemingly effortless traditions before us and pinterest at our fingertips, we often fail to look around at those for whom Christmas is the worst.
Here is a list of a few groups for whom Christmas is often considered the least wonderful time of the year:
The grieving. Traditions are meant as a way to keep our families together. Whether it's a special food or game or spoken word, traditions remind us of where we came from. But for those who are mourning, they are a painful remind of how nothing will ever be the same. The pies won't ever be a sweet as when mom made them. Monopoly won't be as fun (or frustrating) as when dad used to cheat. The Christmas story won't seem as sacred as when grandpa read it from the family Bible. Suddenly, the traditions that were supposed to keep our loved one's memory alive leave us feeling hollow.
There is a specific subset of the grieving I want to remember: those mourning the loss of a child. I've had many friends lose a child this year. Some were gone before they were even born, while some perished in childhood and adolescence. For these heartbroken parents, they mourn not over traditions that will never be the same, but over those they never got to see. They won't get to see their child wait up to catch Santa or find a new bike in the living room. They won't get a photo of their grandchild on the jolly old man's lap or hear their squeals of delight over ribbons and boxes instead of the gifts inside. Whether these parents lost their children last month or 20 years ago, nothing fills that void.
The outcasts. Nothing seems to make people feel more like an outcast like family gatherings. While people complain about "having" to go home and see their family, there are likely millions who have no home to return to. Whether they were cast out for one reason or another, or their family members have died, or they have moved away and have no way to keep that promise of being home for Christmas, it's hard to view a holiday alone as anything but lonely. And then there are those who are surrounded by family and still feel all alone. The "black sheep" of the family often feel nothing but dread this time of year because they know their family's fun will be at their expense. They know their portion of the family newsletter will be kept to a minimum. They know they'll be judged for their lack of a spouse, or children, or an education, or a better job. They hold their breath and count down the minutes until they can leave, praying they can get through the landmine of Christmas conversation without being ripped to shreds.
The split-holiday children. Some separated parents do a phenomenal job of putting their kids before their anger, and those parents deserve to be commended. But, unfortunately, a large number of children are used as pawns in the battle of who can hurt the other party more. These kids are shuffled back and forth in an effort to give everyone a shot at making memories. For too many, those memories will include bashing the other household, before being rushed off somewhere else. Traditions are forced to change. New people come into the picture. A new environment must be learned. Soon, the idea of two Christmases sounds less like a fantasy and more like a nightmare.
The anxious. This group is probably the most forgotten in this season. Imagine for a moment that you struggle with crowds and sensory overload. Now put yourself in almost any location during the Christmas season. Malls, restaurants, churches, even your living room. Chances are, those places will be filled with people, loud noises, and flashing lights. It's nothing short of tormenting. All these factors are multiplied by the constant demands that the anxious "be happy". How can they experience the joy of the season if they can't first feel its peace?
So what are we to do?
We need to slow ourselves down and remember the reason to celebrate. It's not about presents or traditions or even family. It's about God giving up His son, and Jesus giving up His throne. He came to be like us so that He could save us. If we really remembered that, would we honestly be so concerned about everything else? And more importantly, if we remembered why we celebrate, would we be so self-centered as to not notice those dying in our midst?
How can we serve these for whom Christmas is the worst?
For the grieving, offer a listening ear. Allow them to share stories of Christmas past. Let them know you share in their belief that their loved one was one in a million and worth remembering. Find out what special things their loved one did for them and then find a way to fulfill that request yourself.
For the outcasts, offer a place to belong. Most families make way too much food anyway, one more place setting won't hurt you and one more gift won't break the bank. Some of my favorite holiday memories were created in the years we couldn't get back to family so we welcomed those we knew were alone to join us. As a child, it was a great experience to hear how other families and cultures celebrated.
For those from broken homes. Be sensitive and exercise wisdom in conversations. Realize that they are in a situation they didn't ask for. Listen when they want to talk, but don't engage in the bashing of one side or another. These children are often forced to deal with adult situations, when they are around you, let them be little.
For the anxious. Stop forcing Christmas cheer. If they need a break, give them one. They are dealing with issues beyond their control. Understand, they aren't rude or angry, they are being betrayed by their minds. They are probably even more frustrated than you at their actions.
May the Lord remind us of the wonderment of what He did, and may He make us mindful of those around us all year long.
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