I don’t remember how old I was; that dreaded first year of not believing in Santa. I also don’t remember how I responded. Was it catastrophic? Did I have a meltdown? Did I take it in stride? And although coming to a realization about Santa can certainly be a pivotal point in life, there’s something far more important that I sat with last night.
Christmas traditions change over the years. We go different places. We see different people. The menu can fluctuate, too. Memories are valuable pieces of our lives as these traditions evolve. Because of change, I found myself being more contemplative recently. Christmas Eve no longer finds me with my siblings, Dad, and Mary Jo. And Christmas Day no longer holds the excitement of any kids waiting for what’s under the tree. A trip to Florida to see Mary Jo wasn’t in the cards either. The one thing that DID remain was Christmas Eve candlelight service. But aside from church, our activities were completely altered this year. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day found us at home. Nowhere to go. No large pan of scalloped potatoes to fix. Nothing. Part of me (the part that just punches my way through life) was convinced that it wasn’t a big deal. Christmas isn’t about all of those things anyway. Christmas is about JESUS. I could and would celebrate Christmas at home alone just fine. But admittedly, another small sliver of me (the one that sneaks out every once in a while to show that I do have a heart and emotion) was grieving. It was okay that I didn’t have kids at home anymore, but I still wanted to see them. I even wanted a reason (outside of myself) to mess up the kitchen. And on December 13th I wrote about not seeing my oldest because he was in jail. That’s when it really started to sting.
You see, this isn’t the first time he’s been in jail. Unfortunately, he’s very familiar with those surroundings. Every time he finds himself there over the years, he calls me. Generally speaking, I accept the collect call. It’s the same conversation almost every time. He has countless other people to blame instead of taking responsibility himself. He knows that I won’t enable him or the situation. But I’m still his mom. He still wants to hear my voice. He still needs to know that I love him. So this last time, I made one of the most difficult decisions I’ve ever made. I determined that when he called, I wasn’t accepting the charges; the call would disconnect and he’d be left with silence on the other end. Before you cast criticism my way, trust me when I say this decision was not made lightly. For years I’ve maintained mental toughness (and of course relied on God) to navigate his choices and these calls. But those things begin to take a toll. My heart and mind needed some time and space. So for the last few months, instead of accepting his calls, I’ve been writing him letters.
Taking the time to express written words is therapeutic. Most importantly, I needed him to remember that I would always love him. I included blank paper and a return envelope in the event that he would choose to write back. No return letter ever came, and the calls stopped coming.
Obviously I’ve prayed about him and for him endlessly over the years. I’ve shared his name with my friends and family. God knows my deepest longing. But I had actually gotten to the place where I had surrendered him. Not a day went by that I didn’t think about him and wonder how he was. Yet I wasn’t praying for him (right or wrong, that’s just how it was). Then I found myself talking to God about Christmas. God, it would be amazing if I could hear from Brandon on Christmas. Just to hear his voice for a minute. Let me tell him how much I love him. I don’t have need for a single gift to unwrap. Material things are inconsequential. But God, could he call me?
Christmas Eve service was outstanding. (God showed off again, but that’s a different blog.) I’ve never cried singing O Holy Night before. I believed my full attention was on Jesus instead of all the other things and my heart seemed content. We went home to enjoy a non-traditional meal of ham, beans, and cornbread in the cast iron skillet and fell asleep to a Christmas movie that I can’t even remember.
Christmas morning we splurged and had cinnamon rolls. I started prepping steaks, baked potatoes and roasted veggies for supper when my phone rang. I think I might have gotten a nudge from God that told me to put down the potato and aluminum foil and go see who it was. My heart rate instantly jumped. I knew that number and the familiar recorded message asking me to accept charges from the Rush County Jail.
Talking to your son from jail on Christmas Day has never been on my wish list; until this year. It was the sweetest sound. Not just because of his voice (which I definitely loved hearing), but because it was another affirmation from God. I think I often talk to God about things that are important to me even though I’m pretty sure He isn’t going to change the situation. And that’s okay. I’ve come to trust that He knows best. But this little (kinda big) gift was so encouraging.
I DO STILL BELIEVE! I believe that God knows me and hears me and cares about me.
Romans 10:10 ~ For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved.