Nine years ago I began the Advent season desperate and desolate. All I wanted was for Phoebe to be alive and home. I was waiting for the door to swing open and those familiar steps ups the stairs. I was still wrapping my head around the reality of her death, praying I would wake up from the nightmare. Those weren't easy days and I'm not sure I had anything to do with making it through; I think it was God's amazing grace that allowed angels to carry me forward towards Bethlehem.
I'd decided the only way I could survive would be to offer Phoebe to the infant Jesus on Christmas Day! I had to know she had a place with Him. My conviction was fueled by an overwhelming scent of pine that permeated the first few days following her death ...my mind and heart traveled immediately to the manger and I took little threads of comfort believing Phoebe was there.
A few years before, when she was about 12, we had met with a young priest of a primitive order who spoke to Phoebe about Bethlehem. I just watched as she took in his words that evoked a whole sense of being present in that place when Christ was born. I had to think that conversation was meant, in some small or very grand way, to invite Phoebe into the first moments of Christ's life on earth, while also offering me a consolation I would one day, years later, be reminded of.
That first Advent, I walked most days among the trails of Worlds End, a beautiful, peaceful reservation steps from our front door. I envisioned following Blessed Mother on the donkey that carried her on the arduous journey to the mandated census. My steps were unsteady but intent, and my heart followed her. In our world it makes no sense, but in God's world ...the only one that truly matters, I could see her just ahead, leading me. She knows the heart of a mother broken, and she tended to me so I could follow her.
And so here we are, the first day of Advent, my tenth first day of Advent since Phoebe's passing.
This day is far different than that first, and yet still, I seek comfort and consolation in finding Phoebe in Bethlehem. My steps are steadier, my vision more focused and certain, my trust is deeper and even more abiding ...and I am that much closer to seeing Phoebe once again. But I still need to reach Bethlehem ...I still need to freely give, with abundant joy, my precious girl to the infant Jesus. It is still hard and I don't expect that to ever change. But life here is often hard, thorns among the roses.
And I'll bring with me prayers for all those parents who've lost children, finding themselves lost amidst the pain ...the agony of life without their precious child.
Walk with me Phoebe ...towards the manger ...to our Savior!
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