“The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.”- John 1:5

We lost my step-dad, Al, a few days before Thanksgiving 2001, he was 62 years young. He battled cancer for six years, and after a record-breaking eighteen months of hospice care, he passed away. He was a strong, funny, hard-working, stubborn Texan with broad shoulders and hands the size of baseball mitts. He loved country music, cowboy hats, jalapeno peppers straight from the garden, playing practical jokes, and Jesus. He came into my life at age twelve. I wasn’t too impressed when he thought I was a boy (perhaps it was my pixie haircut and my skinny undeveloped body.) We had a rocky relationship, at best, but, years later, we came to know Jesus together, and our relationship was miraculously restored. We had wonderful conversations about God. He loved me like a daughter, and I adored him.

When he passed the week of Thanksgiving, I felt nothing but relief. We prayed for months for his transition to heaven. Hospice volunteers and nurses attended our family vigilantly while Al wasted away in the rented hospital bed, set up in our living room. My mom cared for his every need. It’s how they wanted it. Nothing was left unsaid in our relationship. The day of his funeral we had 26 inches of snow in west central Minnesota. We stood in the cemetery under the flimsy awning laughing at how absurd all the snow was, and how Al would be laughing with us, if he were there.

I didn’t cry for weeks. I was so relieved my step-dad wasn’t suffering one more moment. My heart burst with thanksgiving as I imagined Al walking the streets of gold with his Savior. I envisioned him strong and whole, free from the grip of cancer. I felt nothing but grateful.

Christmas came and we celebrated with family. I love Christmas. I’ve been blessed with a lifetime of very happy Christmas’s spent with my mom’s side of the family. We celebrate a Danish Christmas with oodles of cousins and traditions. It’s quite magical, and it would make a great Hallmark movie.

We loaded up our five kids to make the two hour trip home in the dark. In the Suburban is where the tears started to flow. As we drove, I looked out the window and felt the deepest sorrow. I couldn’t imagine my life without him or not seeing him watch his beautiful grand kids grow up. He was the best Bampa!! He was funny and a wonderful story teller. I wept for two hours straight overcome with a heaviness and sadness I had never felt. Grief is like that, it weighs you down and zaps you of all strength.

Perhaps this is the first Christmas without your loved one, or maybe you still feel the sting of loss after many years. Here’s how to face Christmas when you’re experiencing grief:

1. Let people talk and be a good listener. We’re not very good at listening because we always want to fix. We want to make people feel better. When we acknowledge someone’s pain, it helps. There’s nothing more powerful than sitting with someone in their grief. Your quiet presence is what they need most.

2. Let’s hold all judgement on how someone should feel or act. We are all different, and we all need different things.

3. Let’s be gracious when people decline an invitation. Let’s not be offended or feel like they’ve messed up our plans.

4. Compassion should rule our interactions with hurting people.

5. Don’t compare struggles. Our inclination is to explain our own hardships, which leaves the other person feeling awful. We need to leave ourselves out of the equation.

6. Ask them, what do you need or how can I help you? They might have the courage to tell you. Then follow through with their request.

Grief is a dark, heavy place; it demands attention. We can try to avoid it or stuff it, but it will come out at the most inopportune moment. It can a appear as an angry outburst, a sullen pulling away or thoughts turned inward, often resulting in depression. Grief is something we have to go through. We can’t go around or avoid, it must be faced or it will chase us down for years until we deal with the pain.

Feeling the pain and deep sorrow is what scares us most. We don’t like to feel pain. God is not asking us to traverse the pain alone. He is waiting to be invited close. He’ll sit with us and hold us while we cry. Jesus understands our sorrow. Even in the darkest sadness, the light of His love shines and the warmth of His love heals all broken hearts. There’s no statute of limitation or time-frame for the course of grieving.

One day the pain and sorrow will subside. In heaven, we will be reunited with our loved ones and every tear will be wiped away. But until that day, we must move closer to Jesus in the time of separation.

This Christmas have the courage to tell those you love how grief is still a part of your life, no matter how long it’s been. When we acknowledge it, it doesn’t make us feel as powerless. May we all be sensitive to notice and offer hope or simply sit with them in silence. It may be the sweetest gift they receive this Christmas.