I’ve always struggled with
faith. I’m actually a little jealous of people
who believe so strongly and fully. I
wouldn’t necessarily consider myself an atheist but would classify myself as a skeptic. I’ve gone through stages where I have
believed there might be a higher being out there and I’ve gone through phases
where I adamantly believed there was nothing at all. During tougher times, even if there was a
God, I was sure I hated him. It is no
secret that I’ve had some struggles in my life, especially over the last 5
years. While this is by no means a “poor
me” story, I think that most of you can probably understand my
skepticism. This is a dark world
sometimes. While I’m quite capable of
finding the light most days, I struggle with what is “fair” and
“unfair.” There is just no logical
reason for some of the misery that takes place on this earth. So if I'm not sure whether or not there is a God, why exactly do I celebrate Christmas?
When we lost our son four years ago,
I went to a very dark place. I believed
in nothing and even got a little snarky and irritated when people told me
everything happens for a reason and that God needed him sooner. God didn’t need him…I did. And the words were meaningless to me. The people saying them, however, were not
meaningless. They were well-intentioned,
kind, loving people who just wanted to support me and shower me with their love
and compassion. That’s pretty hard to
stay irritated with. So I let them
comfort me however they chose to do so and I put aside the thought of God with
a shrug of indifference. During this
dark time, there was a small group of women who I had never met that reached
out to me. They had gone through similar
losses and they understood my grief and pain.
They took time out of their lives and their families to put their arms
around me, let me cry, and teach me how to move forward. When I was lost, they found me. When I needed a constructive way to remember
my son, they gave me a position on the board of a non-profit that is now very
near and dear to my heart. It enabled me
to serve my son’s memory in a positive way and maybe help a few others along
the way. This group became a family to
me. Through this organization, I have met many parents who have suffered a
loss. Some of them believe fiercely in a God and in heaven, others don’t. I am content with both beliefs.
Through my time with this non-profit,
I met another amazing group of people. A group that consisted of some of the
most selfless, humble, and caring people I have ever met. I will not speak in detail about who they are
or what their mission is because they choose to remain anonymous. They are truly giving to give, not to receive
recognition. They, again, were giving
countless hours of their own time to make life just a little bit better for
those who were hurting and just needed to know that someone cared. I honestly don’t know their beliefs. We’ve never talked about it. And, again, I am content with that.
We celebrated Christmas growing
up. I’m not sure I ever understood the reason
for the holiday. I knew the story behind
it. But did I believe it? I’m not sure.
I don’t think I ever put much thought into it. What I did love about the holiday was the
magic of it. How kind people suddenly
became. How people stopped thinking
about themselves for just a few days and cared about others. THIS was the joy of Christmas growing up for
me. We didn’t have a lot of money when I
was a little girl and I don’t know that we had the elaborate gifts that I see
kids open these days. But I had two
parents who were so selfless and loving that I never noticed the lack of
tangible things. I remember things like
watching the parade with my mom, making cookies for friends and family, my dad
putting the star on top of the Christmas tree.
I remember taking an angel off of the Christmas tree in the mall and
providing what we could for those in need. The love and kindness was what I
celebrated, not a baby in a manger. And
I was okay with that.
I was surrounded by people of
exceptional faith growing up. People who
went to church every Sunday, read the Bible, and prayed daily. I, on the other hand, was not fond of
spending my Sundays in Sunday school and had more questions than answers. I have a curious mind that is always asking
“why” and “how”. This is a blessing and
a curse. I’ve had moments where I’ve
thought “There has to be…” and other moments where I’ve thought “There can’t
be…” Many days, I wish I was someone who
could just have faith in a higher power. I'm not sure it’s in me to do so and I have accepted that.
Through the ups and downs in my
life, I kept searching. Searching for a
sign of a God. A sign that there was
something more. Something to ease my
fears that this isn’t it. That there is
something after this life. Something to
provide me with hope. I never found the
proof I was looking for. I’ve never had
that “aha!” moment that made me feel strongly one way or the other. However, through every rough patch in my
life, there has been someone there to help me up. Sometimes it was family, sometimes it was a friend,
and sometimes it was a complete stranger.
Oftentimes it was a stranger who then became a friend. I found support in places that I would have least
expected it and this is what gave me hope.
I think as human beings we have this
deep desire to label things. When life
is dark and challenging, we need something to believe in. The jury is still out for me on whether or
not a God truly exists. But I do
believe in angels. I have witnessed
them myself. Despite the pain, sorrow,
and hatred in the world, real-life angels walk among us every day. So when I consider what exactly it is that
I’m celebrating this Christmas, I have decided that I am, in fact, a person of
faith. My faith may not necessarily be in a
higher being but in human beings that I interact with every day and these
angels, alone, give me something to celebrate.
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