Christmas Music and Missing Mom

I've had a lot of thoughts going on in the past 24 hours and while I want to just spill them all out right now, I'll save you the word vomit and divide them up into more than one entry.  For now I will post on my family situation.

Being home is hard.  Christmastime is even harder.  This year marks our third Christmas without my mom and the reality of her being gone is something that will never really be easy to swallow.  My mom's favorite holiday was Christmas.  She used to decorate the house immediately after Thanksgiving, forcing my sister and I to participate in traditions such as baking cookies and chopping down the Christmas tree.  Christmas music would be playing at all times and the house always had a cinnamon or pine scented candle burning.

This year is the first year since her death that I've listened to Christmas music.  It has just always been too hard for me because every time I hear those songs I picture her singing (the wrong words) at an octave far above the artist's while I slump in the back seat of the car, rolling my eyes.  Some of the songs I could only listen to once because they hit far too close to home and some (like The Christmas Shoes) I will probably not venture around to listening to anytime soon.  But I played a Christmas cd on several car rides and even forced myself to listen once or twice to songs that distinctly remind me of her.  Praying all the while for Jesus to heal my broken heart.

A friend also lost her parent around the same time I lost my mom and I gave this friend some questions to journal through over break, with the promise that I would do the same.  So this past week I journalled through the first assignment that I gave to my friend (and to myself).  After pouring out my heart to Jesus for quite a bit of time, I realized that I never really allowed myself to process my mom's death.  I never allowed Jesus to truly come into the situation.  When faced with painful reminders, I would just say "Lord heal me" and I would shut my eyes and turn my attention away from the situation.  Never giving time for it to sink in.  Putting a bandage over a wound instead of stitches.  Not allowing true healing to take place.

And it "healed" incorrectly.  So now I need to let Jesus reopen that wound and stitch it up and let it get better in His care.  I've known this for awhile but I've been too afraid to let Him open me back up.  Too afraid to consciously permit Him to rip apart the fibers of skin that fused together in a very jagged and ugly manner.

But this season, I'm letting Him.
And it
hurts
like you
wouldn't believe.

This season I blew the dust off of the old Christmas cds and turned the volume up in the car.

There's a lot that's been resurfaced since I've let Jesus tear into this, including a relationship with my dad that needs a lot of TLC and mending.  I realized that I've been "protecting myself" by not allowing myself to look at pictures of my mom, not allowing myself to hang out with people and their moms, and not allowing myself to talk about her.  When something motherly comes up I get angry and turn the other way, pushing it out of sight and out of mind.  Slapping a bandaid on it and changing the subject.

Most importantly, I've realized that I am (still) so angry with myself.  Full of regret and sorrow and self-hate.  I'm so angry for the way I treated my mother my whole life.  So angry that the Lord allowed her to die before I got saved.  Before Jesus transformed my heart.  Before I was able (by His love) to treat her the way I should have for the (almost) 19 years I had her in my life.  Every word I would say to her now would be a sobbing apology and a plea for forgiveness.

me & my mom at my 15th birthday party

These are just a few things I've been learning as I'm allowing Jesus to rip open this scar once again.  I caused this to heal wrong because I never dealt with it correctly.  I never truly brought my pain to the Lord, even though I heard Him begging me to give my burdens to Him (Matthew 11:30).  But this season I listened to Christmas music.  This week I journalled the answers to difficult questions.  This night I asked my dad to meet His girlfriend (whom two years ago I told him I never wanted to see).  I'm handing my pain over to Jesus.  Surrendering this dark part of my heart to Him.

I am moving forward.
The scar is being opened again.
And I'm asking Jesus to heal it.

"He sent out his word and healed them, and delivered them from their destruction (Psalm 107:20)."  Even though my mishaps in dealing with my mom's death caused some destruction in my heart, I'm allowing Jesus to heal me.  Through His word.  Through His love.  Through His truth.

This, friends, is a Christmas miracle in my life.