Celebrating Christmas when you want to punch someone in the face

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Celebrating Christmas when you want to punch someone in the face...

Like when you’ve spent 3 months researching and preparing the perfect Christmas lunch, something on trend, perhaps Jamie Oliveresque, with hip rustic table ornaments made from old jars, a salad with Kale, some socially responsible bon bons, colour coordinated crockery and perfectly placed jugs filled with Christmas cheer and Aunty Vera arrives with her 3 day old potato salad that gives everyone the squirts, presented in the crystal bowl she received as a wedding gift in 1969 and plonks it with pride in the middle of the table sending your kikki K mini wooden peg place holder cards flying into your bowl of raw vegan chocolate fruit balls.

And you want to punch her in the face.

Or perhaps you yell at the kids in the car on the way to lunch because you are tense about seeing your sister who never ceases to offend you and you arrive covered in a thick shell of bitter resentment ready to endure the festivities and she opens the door, ushers you in, gives you the once over, spins you around as she laughs, nudges you and slaps you on the back saying “Look at you! You even have back cleavage.”

And you want to punch her in the face

Or perhaps you are sitting on the couch watching the kids open their presents and you look over at your spouse with sorrow and regret, staggered by the enormous crater of sadness and hurt that has formed between you, and a tear slips down your face as you mourn the loss of what was, and steel yourself for the prospect of what will be.

And you want to punch him in the face.

Or perhaps you wake on Christmas morning with a pit of grief and loss threatening to destroy you, you swing your legs over the bed and gaze at the empty pillow of your loved one who is no more, whose memory brings joy and unbearable pain, and you wonder how you will survive the day, if you want to survive the day.

And you want to punch God in the face.

How do you celebrate Christmas when you are in pain? When you have suffered injustice? When you are hurting?

Well, here's a cheery idea...

Serve.

Wait… don’t punch me in the face.

I am going to try, just for one day (and then I can go back to normal thank the Lord), to put aside my anger, fear, resentment, grief and hurt and serve. BORING.. maybe, HARD definitely, but  I reckon that serving is a good way to celebrate the King who gave up his life for me.

Wash Aunty Vera’s crystal bowl and ask her to bring it again next year. Pay our sisters a genuine compliment, squeeze the hand of our spouses, surrender our pain to God. Just for one day.

Never know, it may be good, and we might keep on doing it.

No promises though, because the face punching option is still quite appealing.

Pain

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Today I watched as my sweet 9-year-old daughter sat in a chair clinging to her favourite teddy while someone drilled a hole in her tooth. For such an occasion, I thought it prudent to bring with me my arsenal of parenting weaponry. The peaceful smiley “it’s all ok” face, the over enthusiastic thumbs up shrug and in my back pocket for emergency use only, the stern but confidence inspiring Mummy voice.

I sat helplessly as she lay back and endured the pain. I watched as her legs tensed, her toes wriggled in her shoes, and she squeezed the living daylights out of her teddy. I sat, and watched, and pondered the award-winning parenting advice I had given her earlier. “Yes, this may hurt, but it’s ok to feel pain, it’s part of life. Sometimes it’s best not to try and avoid pain, just face the feeling.”

And then I nearly choked right there in the Dental Clinic as I attempted to swallow the huge ball of hypocrisy in my throat.

Great advice. Why don’t I take it?

Clarity’s a bitch.

Cos right now it feels like God has snapped on his industrial strength gloves and decided to give me a root canal.

He’s got his big ole drill out and has been relentlessly carving away at my insides. He’s drilled in nooks and crannies I didn’t even know I had. He’s drilled for so long I’ve started to think its normal to have a jackhammer constantly chipping away at my life, and just when I think he is finished he shakes his head, opens me up, and drills a bit deeper.

Then, for good measure, he holds his little tricky dicky mirror up so I can see the gaping holes he has drilled. See? See what I did there? You don’t need that.

Still more? Sure. I’ve got this pick axe I can also use to get in those sneaky crevices, you know the ones where you like to hold on to things. Let’s get those too while we are here.

Great. Now let’s get a torrent of water and blast every remaining speck out, and suck out the remaining dregs of your life with this life sucking vacuum.

Cheers.

“Yes, this may hurt, but it’s ok to feel pain, it’s part of life. Sometimes it’s best not to try and avoid pain, just face the feeling.”

Eye roll emoji. Stupid parenting advice.

So, I could rave on about how God took out the decay in my life so he could fill the cavities with himself.

But that is trite bullshit.

He didn’t just take decay, he’s taken half of my teeth out. I’ve even taken a few out myself, and now I’m hobbling around with a numb toothless grin.

There’s no happy ending, neat package, moral to the story. Sometimes we do just walk around with a gaping hole in our life.

It hurts. Deeply. To the core.

Our nerve endings are exposed, and it’s incredibly painful.

And when those feelings are front and centre, when our life is sucked away into a vacuum and we are left rocking in the corner dribbling saliva do we take our own parenting advice? Face the pain?

I’m trying to, and I’m also hanging onto God, squeezing the living daylights out of him. Because sometimes when you have nothing left but him, you are blessed. Blessed to be hanging on for dear life, blessed to have a Father I trust despite my feelings. Blessed to have a life that knows joy and pain.

Do I get a sticker?