From Cope To Hope

These past months we've been working intensely with one of our kids as we process through past trauma and develop attachment. Part of the process has been identifying and learning to use coping skills. And it's been a timely lesson to learn during this holiday season.

Christmas Eve morning: building excitement and anticipation, yet-to-be-fulfilled expectations. Nothing surprising about a bit a frenzy and chaos. Not too alarming that it led to a melt-down. A short-lived event, but one that packed a punch - crying, sobbing, pleading, begging, some stomping and pacing.

And after about ten minutes I was able to come back and apologize for my outburst.

Not until that temper tantrum did I realize the amount of stress I had created for myself, and for my husband and kids.

As the oldest of five children in a family that was comfortable but not especially wealthy in the financial sense; I was blessed (although it's taken me a LONG time to realize it as blessing) to have a mom who has a keen sense of what is important.

My memories of Christmas time as a child are so very rich. As a pastor's wife and director of kid's ministries my mom included everyone in her, our, traditions. Every year she made - and let us "help" make - hand-made Christmas tree ornaments, hundreds of them. One year she sewed a personalized Christmas stocking for each child at church.

Within our home there were cookies to bake, Christmas records continuously playing with my mom teaching us not just the words to the carols, but the meaning behind the words. "What Child Is This" will always be my favorite because it's her favorite because of what it means to her. We kids would make up original choreography to the music and then call my mom to come and watch our latest "dance routine."

The advent calendars changed through the years - sometimes there were little flaps to open with pictures and verses of the Nativity story, in later years she made her own that included a little wrapped gift - candy, gum, chap stick - pinned on each day. Many years she gave us the puzzle of finding as many words as we could out of "Merry Christmas" with a prize for the winner. Of course, the younger ones were allowed to use two or three-letter words... My mom is always so fair and just.

And the gifts. Everything.was.wrapped.everything. Each pair of socks or underwear was wrapped separately - imagine the size of the pile under and around the tree. And she knew exactly who had what yet to open. It took hours. We used to time how long it took - four hours was the average. One at a time, slowly so we could save the paper.

The paper. How fun it was to hand your sister a gift and say, "Hey, that's the paper that my pink sweater was wrapped in last year!"

Then there were the years that no names appeared on the gift tags, only shapes. This was her way of keeping us from snooping and shaking and figuring out what a certain package might contain. Only she knew the code and she only confirmed it once we had correctly cracked it.

The stocking stuffers were all wrapped. And for most of my childhood years we had TWO stockings. One on the banister and one at the foot of our beds. That was ten stockings to fill and wrap. My mom is my inspiration to continue to wrap my kids' stocking stuffers which, when after a recent Facebook poll that I informally conducted, I came to realize that most people do not wrap.

Christmas Eve included a menu of special treats that we usually only had for that occasion. That was also when we each received a new Christmas tree ornament - and each ornament was hand-picked for each person. Cardinals for my dad - his favorite bird. Band instruments, sports items, books, teddy bears depending on the person and interest.

As we've grown up and started our own families, Christmas Eve has been when we've all gathered together to receive our Christmas ornaments - opening them one at a time. We exchange family gifts and Grammy and Pappy give out their gifts. And we have all those special Christmas Eve treats.

This was the first year that Christmas Eve was going to be different. My mom has cancer and is undergoing some serious treatment. She has little energy and has to be careful to stay healthy. So a big family gathering with lots of germs was not in her best interest.

Not until we were about to open our Jesus Stocking on Christmas Eve morning did I feel the difference. And even then I didn't know that it had registered with me. As I gathered my kids in the living room and some of them began to be less enthusiastic than I had hoped, it unexpectedly hit - an overwhelming wave of emotion. In tears I ran to the garage and sobbed and stomped and paced. And prayed. "What am I doing wrong, God? Why don't they get it? Why don't they appreciate all that I am trying to do?"

What I had been trying to do was to give my kids the same kinds of traditions and memories that my mom had given to me. In my estimation I have the BEST mom ever. One of my greatest aspirations is to be at least half the mom to my kids that she was and continues to be for me.

After calming down enough to listen, what I heard God say back to me in the garage was, "You are blaming your kids for not living up to the expectations YOU have made. You are making this about YOU, not about them." 

So that's what I went back and told my kids. I apologized for the pressure I had put on them to "enjoy" the Christmas season the same way I do, for not realizing that I was actually creating stress and not the joy I so much wanted them to experience. And my precious kids all graciously forgave me. As we opened the Jesus Stocking, I realized that they had been "getting it" all along.

And so there are times lately when I feel like the best I can do is to cope. And I hear God gently reminding me that it's okay to cope, but that the whole reason for Christmas is HOPE.