Sometimes Christmas isn’t as cheerful as it’s supposed to be. Christmas is a magical, joyful time of year, where loved ones gather to celebrate the awe-inspiring birth of Christ, reflect on the year, and carve out time to show their love for one another. But sometimes Christmas is hard and lonely.

2017 and 2018 were marked by some of the darkest days in my family. We were broken and apart. I lived in another state for one year and had a rough employment situation the other year. On top of it all, things behind the scenes soured Christmas in ways I’ll never forget. I had to step in and be Santa for my younger siblings, which I’d do again in a heartbeat, and under the right circumstances should be a joy in and of itself. These however, were not the right circumstances.

In 2019 I wrestled with whether or not I needed to quit the worst job of my life, but chose to endure the wretched position because I gave my word that I would. I was exhausted emotionally from the last two years and worn out mentally and physically from the toxic work environment I pushed through to pay bills.

In 2020, like many others, I fell sick with covid. It was not fun. My sister and I quarantined because the world was freaking out and both doctors and our family refused to see us. I was more than a little terrified trying to keep my baby sister’s dangerously high fever down and care for her alone while being quite ill myself. But worse than the symptoms and sickness, worse even than knowing I missed Christmas with my family was the misery of knowing my sister missed Christmas because of me.

I had amazing coworkers who blessed us that year with packages in the mail of Christmas decorations, tea, crackers, and twinkling lights to help us heal and feel less alone on Christmas. It was bittersweet because I’d finally found new family and yet still was alone on Christmas and totally out of it for much of the rest of the season.

For 2021 and 2022 I was too busy working through Christmas to really stop and rest in the promise of Christmas cheer and joy. I had my dream job, working for a company I really believed in. I worked my tail off–not that I’ve ever been good at taking breaks anyway–and like many businesses, Christmastime was a busy time of year for us. We were going to change the world. And I’d much rather do that than deal with the drama and dysfunction of my family, so what did it matter that I missed Christmas with them? I was saving myself heartache. Setting boundaries. Adulting.

I have some white lights I keep up year round and I drink hot chocolate all through the winter. I’m also guilty of listening to Christmas music all through the year, so I didn’t really have anything to make Christmas “special” other than reflecting on the birth of my Savior–which to be clear, is the heart of Christmas.

I’m not a materialistic Christmas person by any means, but I haven’t really done anything to keep the magic of Christmas alive either.

This year. Well. This year hasn’t turned out anything like I thought it would. I’ve waded through rejection, bitterness, betrayal, and abandonment all over again. Just when I thought I was finally through with it all. This Christmas promised to be tainted by grief, loss, and some of the deepest wounds I’ve ever incurred.

I feel as though I’ve lost almost everything. Friends, family, job, career. Even hope. My dreams lay shattered at my feet and God has stripped me down to the core of my faith. In His grace I have yet to go without food or a roof over my head. But this year has been one of the darkest of my life and I still struggle to see the light on some days.

But God was silent for 400 years.

He led His people through wilderness after wilderness and some never made it to the promised land. Most died because of their own rebellion and sin. Even the father of the faith, righteous Abraham, never saw the fulfillment of God’s promises. Moses’s face literally glowed so brightly he had to cover it because he talked face to face with God and he never stepped foot in Canaan.

Mary and Joseph faced rejection and judgement, too. They were not only abandoned by their people but pursued. Harrod slaughtered a whole generation of boys trying to kill the Messiah. Christ was mocked, hunted, and brutally murdered by his own people. The very people He came to save. Mary who was favored by God. Joseph, the noblest of men. And God Himself knew heartache and pain, suffering and sorrow. They were called to the most difficult of paths and they were not promised ease.

But as I reflect on Job, who lost everything but his life, and Joseph who was sold into slavery by his own brothers, slandered, and imprisoned–both men whom God called righteous–I see story after story of hardship.

And yet this is the only thing that has kept me going: knowing my God is faithful. I don’t have to see it, understand it, or feel it. I believe with everything in me that His word is true. I am but a very small part of an infinitely big plan.

Because God thrust me into a full stop–a fallow season I have wanted nothing to do with, mind you–I have realized just how dark Christmas has felt to me over the last several years. I’ve felt more alone and broken than ever before. And yet my heart yearns to feel the love and joy and yes, magic, of Christmas.

These two men know exactly what it’s like to feel the cold tendrils of a joyless Christmas wrap around a broken heart. There are few things as moving as watching these two grumpy curmudgeons discover the depth of love and the magic of Christmas.

Over the last two weeks I’ve sought to intentionally cultivate that joy, to seek delight in the smallest of things. To find the childlike wonder of snowflakes and silver tinsel on trees. To let the colored lights soak into my shattered heart and settle into the warmth of my Father’s arms. To truly advent. To strain to hear the whisper of anticipation of a miracle born in a manger after centuries of silence and oppression.

Am I still hurting? Of course. Can silly Christmas movies and pine-scented candles stop the tears and heal the brokenness of a hard Christmas? No. But maybe for just one moment, they can help us be still. To rest. To simply be.

And it is when we are still that we can ponder and when we ponder that we find that elusive magic.

I feel joy when I dwell on the bright stars of a clear winter night and see the Dipper as I bring groceries in from my car. I am awestruck when I reflect on how massive the universe is, how very small I am in it, and why the Creator of all things would want to know me. I find wonder when I think of the love of an all-powerful God shivering homeless in a barn as a helpless infant. These things give me much needed hope.

This is not the end of the story. We have the faithful promise of a loving God that the end will be very good indeed. We will be made right. Redeemed. Restored. Have you ever looked those words up and really taken the time to think about what they mean? I have. And it is magical.

Every broken thing will be made whole. Even if I die before I see the promise fulfilled, I choose to stop. Be still. And trust in the faithful Father.

In the meantime, I’m going to wear my burgundy sweater and festive socks, listen to Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker on loop, and dance in my kitchen to the shadow of a childhood dream. I’m going to read A Christmas Carol by candlelight and sign every glitter-covered Christmas card by hand in colorful ink. I’m going wash my hands in peppermint soap and weep to Pentatonix’s Emmanuel and dwell on the awe of Mary Did You Know. I’m going to laugh at Jim Carry’s Grinch and sob when Jack Frost falls beneath the ice to save his baby sister. I’m going to savor Nana’s fudge, and I might even try my hand at my great-grandmother’s sugar cookie recipe.

My prayer for those of you whose hearts are in pieces like mine is that you entrust those pieces to the Prince of Peace and delight in the smallest of things this season. May you have the Merriest of all Christmases this year, hard or not.