A Light Will Dawn by Kristen Joy Wilks

This is our first Christmas without our sweet Newfoundland dog, Princess Leia Freyja.

This is our first Christmas as the parents of an adult child who has moved away.

This is our first Christmas welcoming a grown son home for the holidays.

This is our first Christmas with a new roof that doesn’t leak, not even a little.

This is our first Christmas celebrating with a daughter.

So many firsts. So much joy and pain, all smashed up and mixed together.

One moment I’m sharing photos of our dear Newfoundland dog with my husband, sharing tears, rejoicing at eight amazing years with the best dog ever. The next I’m looking for puppies, hoping God will send another fluffy blessing into our lives to shower us with slobber and make sure we have just enough dog hair on the couch to keep us humble.

The next I’m choosing Christmas gifts for our grown son. A set of silverware, a teapot of his own, and like every year a Lego. My husband and I stood in the driveway holding each other and crying when he drove away. But he visits, on purpose, to play board games with his dad and eat some homemade bread. He is coming home for Christmas. Let me say that again. Of his own volition, he is coming home for Christmas. He could do anything he wanted on December 25th, 
but he is choosing to spend that day with us. Now that, my friends, is a gift!

We inherited my grandparents' hand-crafted log home last year.

This year, we replaced that hand-crafted roof that leaked onto two of our sons’ beds. 

As I write, my husband is up on the roof banging around, racing a snowstorm to place the final strips of roof metal so that our winter will be warm and snug. Bee stings, yes, I would periodically hear my husband shout and thump across the roof as he outran bees. Smashed thumbs, random metal cuts, sore muscles from creeping across that steep metal roof trying not to fall. A fire crackling in the stove, a giant tree twinkling against the backdrop of log walls and massive picture windows that look out on our mountain meadow. So many blessings to go with the pain of roof repair.

No, none of the boys have gotten married and we did not adopt. I suppose that technically she is a coworker, a “camp daughter,” our maintenance director. However, this is a momentous occasion for someone in an all-boy family. This Christmas we get to welcome a wonderful young woman into our family celebrations. All our previous camp daughters have gone home for Christmas. This Christmas, we are her home, we are her family, we are the ones who get to celebrate the greatest of gifts by exchanging gifts with a young woman whom we love.

Most likely, your Christmas hasn’t lined up all perfect either. Maybe your joy isn’t complete, there is a bit (or a ton) of sorrow mixed in. While you enjoy one blessing, you grieve a loss. Maybe more than one loss. Maybe so much loss that the very audacity of a sparkly Christmas tree makes you grit your teeth and send a curt prayer Heavenward. Maybe what was supposed to be a praise and a song ended up as a muttered curse said under your breath and a wave of self-loathing to accompany it.

Oh, little lamb.

The man of sorrows is a God who is still God … even in the midst of this. In the dirt and darkness of a stable, the light of the world came. On the shadowed hill of Golgotha, love was put to death on our behalf. Sin is broken, Death is slain, our Lord knows the dark night and the storm and He still comes for us, His children, His lambs.

Lift up your face this Christmas. See, your King is coming.

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.” –Isaiah 9:2

“As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock when he is with them, so will I look after my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered on a day of clouds and darkness.” –Ezekiel 34:12

“So he got up and went to his father. But while he was still in the distance, his father saw him and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him.”--Luke 15:20

Kristen Joy Wilks writes from a remote mountain meadow that alternates between quiet and chaos. Her stories highlight the humor and grace God gives amidst the detritus of life. Follow Kristen on Instagram, Facebook, or try one of her chicken-themed books for free by signing up for her newsletter at kristenjoywilks.com

Kristen Joy Wilks