Christmas thoughts

It's been a bit blue here today. I'm sure the cloudy, rainy weather may have something to do with it, but for Christmas, it's been a little bit less than cheery. It's been an unusually difficult Autumn among our tight-knit military community. I've already written about the broken arm saga, and the break-ins. I think I've even mentioned our friends' daughter with the aggressive brain tumor. I spoke with her on the phone today, and went by to drop off a basket of lighthearted reading for her boys. Played with Sarah, hairless from the chemo, but walking and talking and doing so well in spite of the horrible tricks her own body is playing. The poor baby can't get a break. There are indications the tumor may be metasticizing. Her parents have been told the prognosis is worse than poor. We have other friends going through severe marital problems; a friend who recently miscarried. Granted, much of this trauma isn't even really ours. Tracy and I love each other and our doing well. Our children have seasonal sniffles but are otherwise healthy and strong. But we feel for our friends. Tracy lost two classmates from Ft. Riley last Christmas Day - killed when their vehicle struck an IED. We wondered how their families might be holding up now, faced with the anniversary of their deaths (coming at what is supposed to be such a joyous time). And on a much less serious note - I've been under the weather too, for about a month now. I'm struggling to recouperate and get appropriate treatment.
So, here we are at Christmas, with all the expectations to make THIS Christmas special - the first one we'll celebrate together since Tracy returned from Iraq. And we are so relieved and grateful. He is home with all his limbs, without the mental anguish of PTSD. The children are doing unbelievably well at school and in their activities. We have wonderful friends and family and are so blessed. But this year it seems like trama and tragedy are walking hand in hand with our gratitude. Is this the way it's supposed to be? Is this what happens once you live so long (and we are getting on in years) - that the beloved holidays serve as reminders of people loved and lost, of the trauma of those who struggle with illness and trials?
I really don't know. Of course, the life of our Savior was no picnic either, not even the circumstances surrounding his birth. Who would better understand our frustration at not being able to get the health care we need than a man whose parents were turned away from every Inn? Who would better understand the pain of our friends struggling in their marriages than a man who was betrayed by his own friend. And who could possibly understand the feelings of those who have lost babies, or spouses, or who are watching their child die - than someone who bled from every pore and gave up His own life for those He loved.
Maybe I'm looking at the whole holiday joy thing backwards. Tracy and I are adults now, and maybe it is not for us to return to the untried, naive wonderment that makes up the joy of Christmases past. I love the passage from Isaiah - Chapter 53: "He is despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows, and aquainted with grief....Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed." Maybe the hope we cling to at Christmas time is the healing power of Him whose birth we celebrate. So, this season, I pray that He who has endured all and suffered all will be with us, to heal us all.