Written by The Truth About Christmas
Today, my father graduated to heaven.
Technically, he was my father-in-law, but I’ve called him Dad ever since I married his son 38 years ago. (It was an easy and natural transition for me to gain another set of parents the minute I adopted a different last name.)
I recognize that it doesn’t seem very jolly to write about someone dying during The Most Wonderful Time of the Year🎶, but hey, death doesn’t cease just because someone plays Andy Williams on Spotify.
In some ways, I think the Christmas season is the perfect time to acknowledge the elephant in the room: No matter how many festive songs we play on our devices or how many blow-up Santas we have stacked up in the yard, often there is pain lurking beneath the tinsel…
And honestly, it’s just a relief to admit it.
Don’t get me wrong; I love all the accouterments that define the Christmas season: lights (mandatory), decorated trees (and candles that smell like trees), festive playlists on Spotify, Christmas china set on a red tablecloth with more candles, and red/green sugar sprinkles on most—if not all—desserts.
I’m all about it.
As evidence, this 👇🏻is my view as I write about my father-in-law dying only hours ago.
Life doesn’t need to stop just because we’re grieving. Indeed, that’s what the Advent season is all about.
Advent Isn’t Always Jolly
Advent is a season of contrasts:
- Highs and lows
- Darkness and light
- Sin and salvation
- Desperation and hope
- A king and a stable
- Death and life
Real life is like that, too. Sure, there may be festive mistletoe hanging in your house, but that doesn’t mean you feel like kissing the people who live there.
Just sayin’…
Life isn’t always jolly either…
My father-in-law’s life is also full of contrasts. At the funeral on Monday, I expect to celebrate a life well lived. Dad was married to Jeff’s mom for 64 years, and they have six children, sixteen grandchildren, and seventeen great-grandchildren (and counting).
On paper, his life appears to have been blessed beyond measure.
And yet, like all of us, I suspect there were Christmases when the lights and tinsel on the tree masked the darkness of despair in his soul. There were tough seasons, broken relationships, and all the usual challenges that come with raising a large family.
I wonder if you can relate?
The Hope of the Season
The last time Jeff and I both got to spend time with his Dad was in his nursing home several months ago. Although his cognitive functioning was impaired due to the development of dementia, he had times of clear and lucid interactions with us. One such moment was our last hour with him before we headed to the airport.
Since it was Sunday, Jeff and I took some bread and grape juice to the nursing home to host a short, makeshift church service for him. We began by playing Alan Jackson’s Gospel Album on Jeff’s iPad. (Alan Jackson was one of Dad’s favorites.) We began the service by singing The Old Wooden Cross, and almost immediately, Dad’s tears began to flow. (It’s incredible that a person who sometimes struggles to finish a sentence can remember old hymns.)
On a hill far away, stood an old rugged Cross
The emblem of suff’ring and shame
And I love that old Cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain
So I’ll cherish the old rugged Cross
Till my trophies at last, I lay down
I will cling to the old, rugged Cross
And exchange it some day for a crown…
After our opening hymn, we took communion together. I broke a slice of bread into pieces, looked into Dad’s beautiful blue eyes, and reminded him that Jesus’ body was broken so that he could be made whole.
I then handed him a medicine cup with some grape juice in it. I reminded him that Jesus shed his blood on the cross so that his every mistake could be forgiven. Because I wasn’t sure if he was getting all that—he was pretty emotional at this point—I emphasized that Jesus forgave all his sins—even the ones he still regretted.
An Encounter with God
At this point, I wasn’t sure what was happening because Dad was crying pretty dramatically and mumbling somewhat incoherently. Occasionally, I deciphered the word “Sorry,” so I assumed he was repenting for whatever burdened him.
By this time, the rest of us were crying, too. I can’t speak for Jeff or his mom, but I was moved to tears watching someone who seemed to be heartbroken by the burden of sin and regret. I sure could relate.
It’s the worst…and the best.
As we silently prayed that God would lift every burden from Dad’s shoulders, I sensed God saying that Dad has been a good father, but he hasn’t known what it’s like to be a son.
I put my hand on Dad’s shoulder and asked him to look at me; I didn’t want him to miss the significance of what God had said.
I said, “Dad, I sense God is saying that you have been a good father, but you haven’t known what it’s like to be a son.”
Father God said He is your dad.
He loves you…
And you belong to Him.
“…And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Isa 9:6)
Holy smokes…That hit deep.
Dad began to really sob. There weren’t enough tissues in the room to keep up with the liquid pouring off his face.
I was undone.
Isn’t it just like Jesus to step into our darkest pain—even pain that has been there for eighty-nine years—to shine His transforming light into our lives?
This is not the kind of light we drape on a tree and call beautiful; it’s the light of the world that’s been made flesh.
Jesus shines HIS truth into the messy parts of our lives, even a birth story like Dad’s: He was born out of wedlock to a young girl he never knew as Mom. Raised by relatives who took care of his needs but not his heart, Dad didn’t know what it was like to be a truly beloved son…
…until God spoke to him that day.
It may have only been August, but the Christmas story was made real on a hot summer’s day in a nursing home in Wisconsin.
The Last Hymn
Dad was emotionally wiped by the time we got to the end of our little church service, but I wanted us to end in an upbeat manner. I asked Jeff to pull up I’ll Fly Away for our closing hymn.
Little did I know, Dad would fly away one week before Christmas.
Fly Dad, fly…
Some glad morning when this life is o’er
I’ll fly away
To a home on God’s celestial shore
I’ll fly away
I’ll fly away, oh glory
I’ll fly away
When I die, hallelujah, by and by
I’ll fly away
When the shadows of this life have grown
I’ll fly away
Like a bird from prison bars has flown
I’ll fly away
I’ll fly away, oh glory
I’ll fly away
When I die, hallelujah, by and by
I’ll fly away
Just a few more weary days, and then
I’ll fly away
To a land where joy shall never end
I’ll fly away
I’ll fly away, oh glory
I’ll fly away
When I die, hallelujah, by and by
I’ll fly away
Dear reader,
If there is pain hidden beneath your Christmas tinsel, I see you. You are not alone. We celebrate the birth of a Savior who came to bring hope and healing into your situation. He did it for Dad, and He will do it for you.
I want you to know that it’s okay to feel all kinds of difficult emotions this season AND still celebrate the hope and healing that have come in Jesus, even if it has not yet manifested in your life. I pray that, like Dad, you come to know the revelation of your position as a son or daughter of God.
Have a blessed Christmas!
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