Christmas: From Dread to Joy - Inspire A Fire -Christy Bass Adams

Christmas as a Kid

Christmas was magical at my house as a kid. Our house transformed into a festive wonderland the weekend after Thanksgiving. Multiple nativities, many boxes of ornaments, handmade treasures, figurines, quilts, and tablecloths. Christmas music blasted through the house as we worked together making memories.

Then in February of 2005, the year after I got married, my childhood home burned. All the Christmas decorations were destroyed, and Christmas wasn’t the same. I struggled for six years, changing the radio when Christmas music played, and decorating a sad little tree in a coffee can so I wouldn’t be a complete scrooge.

When Christmas Changed

Then Carter came along. Having children meant dealing with my junk so they could learn to love life. And Christmas. So, I decorated a tree, crying the whole time. I told myself it was for Carter, but really it was for me. I was mad at God for stealing the joy of Christmas; so mad, in fact, that I couldn’t see I was the one robbing my own joy with my sour attitude and hard heart.

Each year has gotten easier, and sometimes I find myself tuning to Christmas music on purpose. As Daniel came into our lives four years after Carter, traditions formed, and I looked forward to decorating the tree with their little handprints and homemade ornaments.

Christmas This Year

But this year, the dread I used to feel toward Christmas came back. Until Covid hit last year, every Christmas Eve of my thirty-nine years had been spent at my grandparents’ house. It was always the same. First, we all brought and ate snacky, finger foods. Then we gathered in the main room in a giant circle. My uncle read the Christmas story from Luke, and one of the men prayed.

After that, starting with the youngest to the oldest, we had to eat a piece of fresh coconut (probably explains my distaste for all things coconut) and start a Christmas song for everyone to join in and sing. Certain family members claimed rights to particular songs, including Papa Bass, who always ended with “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.”

Papa died in February. Granny has been in the hospital or nursing home since the middle of the summer after a bad fall. I have been dreading Christmas because it just wasn’t going to be the same.

Granny insisted on getting the family together at her house and having a traditional Christmas gathering. She got permission to leave the nursing home for the day, and my parents, aunts, and uncles did their best to make it a special night.

My dad opened with prayer and cried as he told God how much we all missed his dad. Tears rolled down our cheeks as we grieved together as a family. My uncle read the Christmas story, and then we sang. When it got to my oldest uncle, he positioned his body just like Papa always did and belted out, “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.”

All of us tried to keep our composure as we sang Papa’s song. One by one we dropped out, as we dried eyes and lost the steadiness in our voices. Then my uncle got up, walked over to my dad, and bear-hugged him through tears.

Christmas was hard this year without Papa, but as much as I dreaded Christmas, we needed to be together. Cry together. Heal together.

Christmas Joy

I don’t want to dread Christmas anymore. A part of growing older means heartache and loss, but it doesn’t mean I have to forfeit my joy. The loss incurred from the housefire took my attention off my family and Jesus and focused it on me and my hurts. Missing my grandpa did the same thing. I chose sadness and loss instead of clinging to the good memories and Jesus’ birth.

Christmas music, traditions, family, and celebrating Jesus should never be pieces of my life I avoid. Instead, they should be treasured. I should be thankful as I remember and celebrate with the ones I love one more time, for one more year.

Dear Father,

May I not forsake the celebration of Jesus’ birth. Through him, we find hope for eternal life, grace that covers a multitude of sins, and joy in the journey heavenward. May I not neglect my family and friends, and the special memories and traditions that unite our hearts as one. Help me pass on the joy of Christmas to my children as they look to me for guidance, and to always preserve the memory and legacy of the ones who have gone before us. Thank you for Jesus. And thank you for the joy of Christmas.

All graphics from Canva

Christy Bass Adams

Christy Bass Adams, is the Outreach and Connections Coordinator at Fellowship Baptist Church in Madison, Florida. She is also a writer and had her first devotional book published in summer of 2022 (Big Lessons from Little People) followed by a middle grades novel (Imagination Checkers) in the fall. Her most important role, however, is with her family as a wife of 18 years and mother to two busy boys. She worked in education for over 18 years at both the elementary and collegiate levels. Her favorite pastimes are fishing and sitting around a fire. For more from Christy, visit her blog at christybassadams.com.