The Hope of Christmas Past

December 24. Christmas Eve. I wake early, memories of the early morning four months ago flooding my mind. Derek’s steady, shallow breathing and rapid heartbeat displayed on the monitor above his head. We knew his life was coming to an end. There was no cure. We had done everything possible to give him a fighting chance, and he had fought so hard. It was time for him to rest, though the thought of continuing to live without him was unfathomable. We surrounded him on his hospital bed, holding him, assuring him of our love. Though he was unresponsive, they say that hearing is the last sense to go, so we talked of the hope we hold deep in our souls: the hope of Christmas past...

Three months before Derek died, after completing a clinical trial with no positive effects for him, with lymphoma exploding in his face and neck, he had asked me, “Mommy, what will happen if everything they try doesn’t work?” Next to telling him he had cancer for the third time, this was the most difficult conversation I have ever had. I told him the truth through tears. We also talked of our hope, and he was satisfied.

So what difference does Derek’s life and death make to you? He was a bright, energetic, thoughtful child with amazing talents. He impressed everyone who met him with his courage, humor, and intelligence. Perhaps it is sensational or somehow satisfying that you knew him, watched him battle, or witnessed his memorial service. Closure has come as you get back to normal life.  But if that is all, you’ve missed the point: the hope of Christmas past.

December 24. Christmas Eve. I am awake early thinking of another child whose birth, commemorated on this day, has provided that hope. God with us. Immanuel.

 As a star in a dark night sky gives proof that darkness is not all there is, He was born to show there is more than just this life of pain and death and tears.  But while He came for this, His mother also watched him die. She didn’t yet realize the hope her son had died to give her. She would soon see Him alive again and understand that hope.

So what difference does His life and death make to you? He was a talented carpenter, compassionate healer, inspiring teacher. He, too, impressed many around Him, and crowds flocked to see and hear Him. Even now, millions read the books written by those who knew Him. Some sensationalize His existence while others move past with their lives, not seeing the bigger picture. They miss the point: the hope of Christmas past that provides for an incomprehensibly beautiful hope of Christmas future.