Tag: Holidays

Ten Years Later #11: A String of Miracles

Featured ~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

This is the last of the “Ten Years Later” series that I had intended to be a weekly feature in 2024. The year, as most are, was more than I had anticipated — more struggle, more loss, more healing, more restoration, more hope. This post, written and recorded in January 2023, sums up the vibe I want to carry into 2025 — the continuing hope that all things can be made new.

We purchased the gifts and wrapped them. We planned menus, purchased loads and loads of food, and baked ourselves silly. We cleaned the house and made all the beds, and then we waited.

As we sat on the coach, staring at Netflix, the texts started to come in.

“We’re checked in at the hotel! See you in the morning!”

“Our flight just landed!”

“We should be there in an hour!”

And then our family started rolling in — from Ohio, from Massachusetts, from Missouri.

We hugged, we laughed, and we ate.

We puzzled; we played games. We did crafts, watched movies, and traveled to celebrate with even more family.

It sounds like what most families do over the holidays, but I suppose many families, like ours, can get together like this only because of a string of miracles — only because of choosing forgiveness, of going to therapy, and of healing and time and the stubborn belief that things get better.

Didn’t you, too, have the holiday where everyone was yelling at each another?

And the one where no one spoke a word?

And the one where everyone walked out of church sobbing?

And the one where some decided they just. couldn’t. do it — not this year.

And then there was the covid year (or years — who remembers?) where we packed presents into flat rate boxes and stood in line for hours at the post office, hoping our parcels would get there before Easter. The year (or was it two?) where we sat in Zoom rooms with family members, some of us trying not to hog the air time, others trying to endure those who were hogging the air time.

It seems after all those difficult years we might have stopped believing that we could once again be all in one space, laughing, eating, agreeing on what to watch, moving upstairs to open the gifts, and leaning together over a puzzle, snacking on chips and rock candy and cookies.

But we didn’t stop believing — really — did we?

Didn’t we keep hoping for the day when all the therapy would pay off? Didn’t we long for the moment when we all laughed at the same joke, all smiled at the same memory, all managed to load ourselves and our gifts and bags full of food into cars only to discover most of the way there that we had left the main dish warming in the oven and no one lost their shit but we rebounded easily, picking up take out on the way?

Didn’t we imagine it could happen? Didn’t we dream it?

And so I’m sitting here pinching myself, trying to believe that it actually happened. And someone in the Christmas 2022 group chat sends a text checking on someone else who left the festivities feeling subpar. Another sends a pic of a present that broke upon opening, and everyone laughs. More pics are shared, more laughter, and then a commitment to what we will do next year.

They want to do it again next year.

I need a moment to just take that in.

Every family relationship doesn’t get this gift, does it? We don’t all get the moments we prayed for.

Don’t we all have at least one relationship where we do all the initiating? where tender topics are avoided? where our hearts ache with disappointment at the end of each phone call? where we can’t shake the feeling of being unwanted?

In fact, I was sitting in therapy the very day that the last of our family left, on the come down, for sure, and all I managed was, “our Christmas was amazing, but this one relationship over here still sucks and that’s all I can think about.”

And over the hour of belaboring the one less-than-stellar relationship I have spent most of my life bemoaning, my therapist offered suggestions, role-playing, expectation-setting, and the like, and near the end of the session, I began to realize that the beauty we experienced with our family at Christmas didn’t come without the hard work of many — of all of us, really.

I can’t expect this other relationship to magically transform on its own. If I want something different, I’ll need to return — to my knees, to forgiveness, to therapy, to the stubborn belief that things can get better.

It’s risky — even just the hoping for change — because happy endings or even happy moments are not guaranteed. I might experience disappointment — again.

But I might risk hoping, and a series of miracles might just happen. We might laugh at the same joke or smile at the same memory. We might play a game together or lean toward each other over a puzzle. We might agree on a movie. We might enjoy a meal.

And it might be amazing.

Witnessing the string of miracles that led to an amazing Christmas has me thinking that I just might risk hoping again.

[He] is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even dream of”

Ephesians 3:20

Last-minute Christmas Prep

Featured ~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

You are all but ready for the holidays, but you’re starting to feel a little edgy because the gatherings are starting to happen? Me, too! Seeing all of our people can tricky — especially at the holidays.

It’s not because of the presents or the food or the clothing we choose to wear, it’s because of all the meaning we attach to the smallest of things. We come carrying the historical experiences we’ve had with each important person in our life, and our brains use some kind of warped algorithm to assign emotional value to every holiday interaction:

the language in that text,

the gesture she made when she said that thing about you know what,

the fact that she said nothing about you know what,

the size of the gift,

the absence of a gift,

the appropriateness of the gift,

the inappropriateness of the gift,

that phone call,

the lack of a phone call,

the food that was served,

the food that wasn’t served,

how much he ate,

how much he didn’t eat,

the church service,

the hymns we sang,

the hymns we didn’t sing,

the outfit they wore,

what they didn’t wear,

who showed up,

who didn’t show up…

It’s all laden with our individual and collective histories of hurt, joy, regret, longing, grief, love, loss, and all the other emotions that seem amplified around the holidays.

And why are they amplified? Maybe because holidays are times of expectation — we build them up to be the pinnacle of our human existence. When did you see your first holiday commercial or store display this year? When did you hear your first Christmas carol? When did you purchase your first Christmas present or attend your first holiday party?

For months we look forward to this season with expectation, creating scenarios in our minds, imagining who will be with us, how they will react to the gift that we bring, how we will embrace and enjoy one another’s company, and how perfect the experience will be. But when each of us arrives lugging our history and our expectation, there is bound to be disappointment.

I will be so busy tending to my historical hurt — the disappointment of Christmases past when I wasn’t with my father, the longing for the holidays my grandparents created, the belief that I didn’t fit in with my family — and trying to process my current reality — the work stresses, health issues, and dysfunction in relationships– that I don’t realize that you, too, are tending to your historical hurt and current reality, which may be very similar or very different from mine.

And, since my gaze is at least partially turned inward, I might say something that is less than thoughtful or even insensitive and you may feel hurt. And since it’s a holiday, you may contain your reaction to a mere shifting of your eyes, but I will see it, and, being focused on my own hurt, I won’t see that shift as you reacting to my insensitivity but will assign it some other type of meaning — I might assume the worst about you rather than taking accountability for my own actions.

And it doesn’t take many of these small interactions to lead to a tense and emotionally charged holiday gathering, even among the most civilized and emotionally evolved among us.

Before you know it, someone says, “What do you mean by that?” and storms away to a different room or out the front door. Or, they contain their hurt inside, plastering over it with a smile, but carrying the hurt to the car with them and taking it out to nurse and nurture in the privacy of their own home so that it can be brought back to the next holiday gathering. It’s not what we are hoping for, but it’s what we often do.

Hurt people hurt people, and if we are being honest, we are all hurting.

We are all longing for someone to say:

I’m really sorry about that thing that happened to you,

I didn’t mean what I said — I was angry when I said it,

I want to heal with you,

Will you forgive me?

Can we talk about it?

How can I help?

I’m proud of you,

I support you,

I love you.

We often approach holidays playing defense — putting up our guard, expecting the blows, preparing for the worst.

What if we tried a different way? What if we planned ahead and practiced checking in, listening, caring, and supporting? What if we processed our historical hurt through writing or therapy before we loaded up the car? What if we were vulnerable and admitted to a few at our gatherings, “I’m struggling. This season is hard. I’m sorry if I seem distracted.”

How might these little moves have a significant impact on our experience of the holidays?

And while we are at it, can we plan to overlook any insensitive comments someone else might make, any seemingly judgmental facial expressions, any downright rude comments? Can we chalk them up to the heightened emotions of the holidays and not give them too much weight? Can we decide in advance not to gather these infractions up in a bag to take home and examine under a microscope? Can we instead choose to sweep them up with the crumbs from the table and toss them in the trash, not because they are meaningless, but because we are not choosing to assign them any additional meaning?

Can we plan to check in with the oldest, the youngest, the quietest among us? Can we set out to embrace those we know are grieving? Can we provide space for those who need an ear? Can we offer to help? Can we turn our gaze away from ourselves?

Could we give that one extra gift?

…Love one another. (John 13:34)

What a Village!

~ Kristin ~ Leave a comment

About a month ago I wrote a post (linked here) about what a challenge 2024 has been — how personal and national events have left me feeling dumbfounded and scrambling to find glimmers of hope amidst the ordinary. Then, a little over a week ago, rather unintentionally, I invited you to tangibly produce evidence of that hope — and you did!

Facing the pronounced need of some of my students at the small Detroit charter school where I teach, I, with a few other colleagues, selected what ended up being twelve families and determined to furnish them with some kind of Christmas miracle. I knew our staff alone would not be able to supply what was needed, so I asked you to be a village for my students, and you circled up!

I posted my blog on a Friday, and by Sunday, Amazon packages from a high school classmate were sitting on my porch and a friend had sent me some funds to get the gift card fund started. And the packages kept coming! As I opened each box, I saw the faces of the villagers — a woman who was my camp counselor when I was a teen, a former co-worker, a few dear friends, the parents of a former student I taught in St. Louis, and a sister- and brother-in-law. I saw them coming together to encircle my students, and the image buoyed my spirits.

Any teacher will tell you that every day of teaching in December feels like a solid week. The students are tired of being in school, yet lessons still have to be taught and programs still need to run.

This past week was cram packed, and by the end, I had lost my sense of humor. It’s probably because I expect the same level of rigor on a Friday in December as I do on a Tuesday in October. After all, that rough draft won’t write itself and it’s due on Tuesday so that we have time for feedback and editing before the final drafts are dropped on Thursday.

I get myself so wound up that I forget — still, after decades in this game — that kids are kids are kids and the fact that the calendar says Friday just does something inside the brain. Make that a Friday in December and that “something” is x10.

Anyway, I made it through last week — preparing for and co-leading a two-hour professional development session, observing and coaching three teachers, and teaching two sections of senior English each day, and only lost my sense of humor on Friday.

When the final bell rang, I settled in to finish the grading for the week, to prepare for Monday’s class, and to straighten my room before leaving for the weekend. I’d been a little amped all day, almost resembling the butt-kicking, name-taking self of yesteryear, but as I moved through my tasks, my emotions started to right themselves, and then I noticed the total in my CashApp account. In addition to my blog post ask, I’d invited our teachers to pitch in to the fund for our kids, too. These particular villagers are boots on the ground day in and day out. They are weary, of course, but I watch them hug students, hold students accountable, feed students snacks that they paid for themselves, talk students down from their own high emotions, and even give them rides home, half of their own lunch, or even the literal coats off their own backs.

Still, I asked them to give more. And they did!

Several of our teachers adopted our homeless expectant mother, purchasing everything off her wish list — items such as a blanket, a towel, shoes, and underwear. Others sent the first few dollars of their paychecks straight to my CashApp so that our students will receive what they need.

Combining the gifts from the virtual village and the on-the-ground village along with some gift cards provided by our organization, twelve (yes, 12!) families would receive gift cards that they can use at their discretion to purchase food, gas, gifts, or necessities! Additionally our pantry is restocked with essentials (seen below) for students to use now or when needed.

My principal and I texted Saturday morning, finalizing plans for purchasing gift cards and other needed items for the fun week we have planned before the break, and then we both headed out shopping. When I arrived home on Saturday evening, I was very content with what we had accomplished, and then came Sunday.

Never underestimate the power of a Sunday morning.

My husband and I had arranged to meet friends for both breakfast and lunch — it’s the cram-packed holiday season after all — and at BOTH meals, members of my village pressed into my hands gift bags stuffed with MORE gift cards to distribute to my students.

I became overwhelmed.

The needs of my students on any given day can seem staggering, and in the bitter cold of December, they can seem impossible to meet — our students need coats and food and clothes and phone chargers and rides and deodorant and feminine supplies. They need patience and hugs and accountability and grace and correction and encouragement and attention.

One middle-aged teacher can feel all alone in the face of such need, but she is not alone.

She has a whole village — on the ground, of course, but also at a distance. She can see them showing up, and cheering, and bringing water bottles and blankets and snacks.

Just knowing they are there gives her what she needs to show up for another day. On a Monday. In December.

It may look like I’m surrounded, but I’m surrounded by you.” — Michael W. Smith, “Surrounded”

The Giving Season

Featured ~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

Since seven (yes, 7!) of our immediate family members have December birthdays, our “season” starts a little earlier than most. We have said for years that we start partying on Thanksgiving and finish on New Year’s Day. This year is no different. The birthday gifts are all but purchased, at least one package has been shipped, and our our living room is staged with “gifts in process” for both birthdays and Christmas so that we don’t miss anyone.

And each morning, I leave my comfortable home that is well-stocked with food, clothing, and this somewhat moderate collection of gifts, cross 28 miles of metro Detroit, pull into a disintegrating parking lot, enter the building, and prepare to meet the reality of the students that I serve.

Today’s reality came in the form of Kaden*, one of my seniors. I was in the gym when he entered from the bus, scowling.

“Good morning, Kaden. Everything ok?”

“I don’t know why we had school today. I almost froze to death.”

“Hey, come here a minute. You only have on a hoodie. Do you need a coat?”

“I mean, I have a coat,” his demeanor was shifting, “we just don’t have a washing machine right now, so I can’t wash it.”

“Ok, but we have coats. I can get you one this morning. Would you be good with that?”

“Yeah, that would be good. I would take a coat.”

Later in the day, I found him, we walked to our clothing closet, and he chose one of several new coats that remained from a large donation we received last year.

We have a fairly decent supply in that closet — coats, shirts, hats, and some miscellaneous toiletries and nonperishable food items — but it goes away quickly because our students are continuously in need of something.

Each day I am asked if I have something to eat — often by students I’ve never even had in class. I try to always say yes and walk students to my stash where they can select a granola bar, some trail mix, or a package of cheese crackers. Most teachers of teenagers probably have a similar routine.

I also get requests for deodorant, for socks, for cough drops, band aids, a toothbrush, or a safety pin — again pretty typical requests for teenagers, and fairly easy to accommodate. These small items solve in-the-moment problems for my students and allow them to get back to learning. I have a pretty healthy stash that many in my village help keep stocked, but when the holiday season comes around, the depth of my students’ need comes into sharp focus.

Before coming to this school, I’d never met families who simply “don’t do Christmas” but here I have met many students for whom December 25 is just another day because their families simply don’t have the financial capacity to purchase anything extra, let alone the privilege many of us have to line their living rooms with gifts, to create an elaborate feast, to deck the halls, and to gather with friends and family.

I have students who are housing insecure — one young woman whose mother died during Covid and who is currently carrying her possessions with her and bouncing between two places to “find a place to sleep”. I have students whose families bounce from apartment to apartment — one young man I spoke to yesterday said “we are definitely moving in a couple of weeks, but I don’t know where yet.” We have families who don’t have reliable transportation — who can’t join the basketball team because they don’t have a ride home after practice and have to take the school bus that leaves at 3:15. I have students who, in addition to coming to school, work to help their parents pay the bills. I have a senior whose very demeanor and aptitude scream “engineer” who is in the manager training program at McDonald’s. He often closes the store and does inventory or other related tasks that keep him up well into the night rendering him incapable of staying awake in school the next day. He’s working this hard, yet he is wearing the same worn clothes and shoes I’ve been seeing him wear since I’ve known him, which is most of high school.

Our students and their families are barely getting by. How in the world can they dream of doing anything for Christmas?

Yet these students keep showing up. They come to school, they log onto their school-issued chromebooks, they complete independent modules to earn their financial literacy credit, they come to my class, bend over their notebooks scrawling out the purpose and audience for their next essay, practice the nuance of Standard Academic English while teaching their middle-aged English teacher the current vernacular. They have big dreams — of being nurses and engineers and game designers and ultrasound technicians — and they need a whole village to rise up around them to give those dreams every chance at reality.

I’m part of their village, and I’m raising my voice to invite you to be part of their village with me.

School leaders have selected nine families who are in dire need of support this holiday season. Because it is already December 6, and we have to get items to our students before they leave for break on December 20, we won’t be filling traditional wish lists. Instead, we have set a goal of giving each of these 9 families one grocery gift card, one department store (Target or Kohl’s) gift card, and one gas gift card. Additionally, I have created an Amazon wish list of items that our students frequently request.

Joining this initiative may be a small part of your holiday giving, but it could make all the difference for a struggling family — it could help them put food in the fridge, buy some new jeans for a child, and put gas in their car so that they can visit a friend. It won’t change their whole world, but it might just change their opinion about the people in it.

All of us have many opportunities to give at Christmas. If caring for my students in Detroit is something you are interested in doing, I invite you to check out that Amazon wish list or to make a donation to our gift card initiative. To do that, you can send a check to Detroit Leadership Academy, 5845 Auburn Street, Detroit, MI 48228 or donate via CashApp.

so in Christ we …form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. 6 We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift … is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; 8 if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously. Romans 12: 5-8, selected portions

Missing the Magical, Longing for the Actual, a re-visit

~ Kristin ~ 2 Comments

I wrote this piece last year, at the point of the pandemic when folks were just starting to get vaccinated, when we stayed far away from each other for Christmas. This year seems different. We still haven’t returned to the magic of large family gatherings like we had when I was a child, but many of us have been vaccinated and boosted. However, with Covid numbers zooming upward again, some are feeling a little unsteady, a little cautious, a little wary of getting together. Perhaps you were able to meet with those you love actually, and if you did, I hope it was magical. If not, I join you in longing for a time when we can meet with all of those we love.

Click the arrow to listen.

When I was a very little girl, Christmas was full and magical. It began with learning our parts for the Christmas Eve program at church. For weeks we would rehearse our lines, “and there were shepherds in the field keeping watch over their flocks by night,” and our songs, “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.”

Mrs. Hollenbeck would herd us into the sanctuary, organize us on the steps of the chancel, and direct us to speak more loudly, “so they could hear us in the back.”

Then, on Christmas Eve, donned in our Christmas best, hair combed and inspected by our mother, my brothers, sister, and I would pile into the car and head to the church.

The place would be crawling with people decked out in their finest — all the men in suits, the ladies with lipstick and stockings and heels. We children would be corralled in the basement, lined up, and given last minute instructions before processing up the stairs, into the sanctuary, and down the aisle to the front of the church. Our families beamed at us as we sang and told the Christmas story of stars and shepherds and sheep and a swaddled baby.

After every line had been said and “Silent Night” had been sung (with the last verse a cappella, of course) we would recess down the aisle to the back of the church where the ushers waited with brown lunch bags filled with roasted peanuts, a fresh Florida orange, and several pieces of candy.

Bundled up in our coats and hats and hugging our precious loot, we were transported home, where we were snuggled into our beds, said our prayers. and went to sleep in anticipation of more magic on Christmas morning.

When we woke, we would rush to the tree to find piles of presents, then before we knew it, we were dressed and loaded back into the car for the drive to my grandparents.

After an hour of watching the familiar landscape and ticking off all the familiar milestones, I would bolt from the back seat and run to the door where my grandpa was waiting with a huge smile and open arms. Right past him, in the kitchen, was my grandmother in a dress and heels, a Christmas apron tied around her waist. She was smiling, too, and ready for her hug, even if she had been up since before dawn making a Christmas feast and setting tables with linen, candles, china, and silver.

The food was the stuff of legends — roasted lamb, beef, ham, and/or turkey, homemade rolls, mashed potatoes with gravy, dressing, salads, and sides, all served family style and passed round the table from person to person. Just when you thought you couldn’t eat one more bite, grandma brought out pie and coffee, even though we’d been nibbling all day on sumptuous Christmas cookies that had been placed among the decorations throughout the house.

Full beyond full, we would roll into the living room and gather around the rotating tree that sat in a musical tree stand brought from Germany who knows when. More than 20 of us — the extended family and any additional guests that Grandpa had invited to join us for the day — received gifts selected individually and with care.

After all the packages were opened and all the paper tossed away, we children ran off to play in the basement, the men moved to the den to watch the football game, and the women assembled in the kitchen to pack up leftovers and tend to a mountain of dishes. Grandma would stand at the sink and wash, the rest stood close by, towels in hand, chatting as they wiped and carefully stacked each dish.

Then magically, just as the sun was starting to set and the kids were starting to bicker, the food would reappear again. Leftover potatoes were transformed into potato pancakes and drizzled with gravy. Meats would be warmed and salads set out, and we would eat — impossibly — again.

Then, full of food and joy and love, we would stand in line to each receive a signature grandpa handshake and loads and loads of hugs before we were piled once again into the car for the ride home. I remember pressing my cheek against the car window, gazing out at the stars, and feeling my dad reach his hand around the seat to pat me on the leg.

Of course, that was a million years ago, and certainly, not all of my Christmases since then have been so magical. Some have been disappointing like the time we excitedly drove from Missouri to Michigan for three family Christmases and then drove back, all five of us sick with the stomach flu. Others have been thick with the heartache of family brokenness — loved ones sitting in the same room unable or unwilling to speak to each other, leaving early or angry or both. In fact, even the Christmases at my grandparents’ house that I remember so fondly often ended with my dad carrying me to the car as I cried tears of fatigue and frustration.

This year, as our grown children are far-flung across the country and our parents are close enough to drive to but too dear to risk the chance of a Covid infection, we have made the choice to follow the CDC’s recommendation to not travel, to not visit, to stay at home, and stay safe.

We won’t have a Christmas Eve program at the church. We’ll stream a pre-recorded worship service on our television as we sit together on our couch. Sure, we might sing “Joy to the World,” but we won’t hear the voices of the family sitting behind us or stand in the sanctuary chatting and laughing afterward with our friends and their children who’ve all gathered for the annual celebration.

Our people will open the presents that have been delivered by the United States Postal Service in the safety of their own homes, not sitting near our tree. We’ll likely Zoom and chat for a while, but we won’t have hugs or secret handshakes or extra cups of coffee and pieces of pie. We won’t pile into the living room together to watch a movie, or hockey, or football. We won’t sit around a puzzle or pour over old pictures or play Scrabble or banana-grams or Uno.

Our little house by the river won’t be crowded by people piled on top of each other and taking turns with one little bathroom. We won’t share homemade cinnamon rolls or a roasted turkey (although you know I’m going to make one), and we won’t hear the laughter as our granddaughters run through our house in their flouncy nightgowns.

We won’t see our parents or our siblings or our nieces and nephews — we won’t get a classic photo on my mom’s couch or gather with my in-laws at a Bob Evans. I won’t hug my godmother and godfather; in fact, now that they are living in separate nursing homes, they won’t be able to hug one other either.

I know we’ve made the right choice, but as December 25th gets closer, I am feeling nostalgic and fighting melancholy. I so long to be with the people we love — to hear familiar voices, smell familiar smells — to share space and time with those we love the most, even if it’s not magical, or memorable, or perfect, or impressive.

But we can’t. Not this year.

So, I’m going to schedule some Zoom meetings, put a turkey in the oven, turn on some Christmas music, and start a new puzzle. It won’t be what I’m longing for, but it’ll have to do until it’s safe to travel the miles, to meet fact to face, to embrace one another, to share the couch and a meal and some laughs.

And once we do get to share physical space again, I think I am going to view it differently. I don’t think I’ll care if it’s magical; I think I’ll simply be grateful — so, so grateful — for our gathering to be actual.

May the Lord watch between us while we are apart from one another.

Genesis 31:49

Take Care for the Holidays, a Re-visit

~ Kristin ~ 3 Comments
Recorded in early morning voice for those who like to listen. Prefer to read? Read on.

As we head into the holidays, let’s gently remember that not everyone in our path is looking forward to reunions. I re-read the words of this blog this morning and remembered writing them through tears last year — we were broken and anticipating feeling all of that brokenness at the holidays. While much healing has happened in the past year, we are still tender enough to remember — and in that remembering, I want to be sure to take care.

Though we may not have admitted it — we are well on our way into the holiday season. It started with emails and phone calls early in October. Who is doing what for Thanksgiving? Who is hosting? Who will travel?

Discussions of Thanksgiving have already turned into talks about Christmas. Where will we meet? Who will gather? When will we worship? What gifts will we buy?

We begin our talking and planning early because holidays matter.

They have been historical points of connection. Even if they haven’t been perfect, they have had meaning. So, each year as we start early to anticipate reunions and traditions, fondly remembering caroling door to door, sledding down snowy hills, eating Christmas cookies, and unwrapping presents on Christmas morning, we are tempted to build expectation that our holiday gatherings will be Norman Rockwell perfection — even if they never have been.

All of this hope and expectation filters into our holiday conversations, which, if they haven’t already, will start this week. You’ll ask or be asked, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” expecting to hear something like, “I am going to my grandmother’s,” or “We host a huge feast every year,” or “I’m getting together with my friends.” These questions seem harmless or even polite, but you may be surprised to learn that they can be emotionally laden (and even triggering) for many among us.

  • For the young man estranged from his family because of differences in beliefs.
  • For the grieving parents whose only child lost the battle to cancer a few months ago.
  • For the recovering addict who isn’t up to managing the annual toast or maneuvering through family drama.
  • For the woman who was molested by a family member every holiday during her childhood.
  • For the newly widowed man who lost the love of his life last summer.
  • For the family who is recovering from years of dysfunction and trying to start new traditions.

They are all around us — these brave souls who are taking great pains to get out of bed every day, who struggle on an average Tuesday to shower, dress, get to work, and feed themselves. Regular days are hard.

Holidays?  Those are next-level difficult.

I was lying on a table last week as one member of my health care team was attending to my body. We entered into the pre-Thanksgiving questioning protocol benignly enough, but before I knew it, there were silent tears and flashes of memory. Holidays do that. They conjure up images of joy and pain — the full tables and the empty places. They invoke feelings of contentment and regret. They raise expectation and anxiety. Cordial exchanges that seem casual on the surface, may trigger an emotional reaction in those among us who are quietly struggling or suffering.

Am I saying that you shouldn’t ask the questions, or that you should veer away from discussions of family and Christmas and tradition and celebration? Not at all.

I’m saying, take care.

I’m saying look people in the eyes. Ask, and then listen. Don’t assume that every person in your world is looking forward to the holidays with joy. Rather, know that for many this is a very difficult time of the year. As you move through your pre-holiday interactions with the people in your life, you may be the only person to see the hard swallow or the averted gaze. You might be the only one to notice the dodged question or the avoidant joke.

And when you do, lean in. That hurting person needs to know that you saw, that you noticed, that you heard.

After I got up off that table last week, my provider and I exchanged a hug. That’s all. No prying. No awkwardness. Just a hug. The tears were seen and acknowledged. That was enough.

Yesterday, I began my search for gifts for the important people in my life. My focus was on the objects, of course. I was trying to find just the right items. A salesperson asked me if I was just looking; I said yes and then continued to browse. She kept talking, wanting to tell me about the sales. My initial reaction was to be annoyed, “Just let me shop; I said I don’t need any help.” I didn’t say it out loud, thankfully. Instead, I stopped, listened, and chatted with her a couple of times. I looked at her eyes. I listened to her voice.

I’m trying to live differently.

I think that’s where it starts, don’t you? If I just pause from churning through my to-do list for a moment, slow my roll a bit, I can see the other people around me. And when I see them, I will begin to notice the ones who just can’t wait to get home to be with their families and the ones who are aching and anxious and wish we would just knock it off with all the angels and bells and Santas already.

And when I notice, I can take care, lean in, and listen a little bit more, and perhaps, these small acts will begin to bring healing.

Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.

Romans 12:10