Immanuel. Whether We Feel it or Not.

These past two years have been a challenge celebrating our American version of Christmas. The Coronavirus epidemic have ushered in massive losses that have impacted families and communities in ways we sometimes don’t care to admit. But it has. We’ve lost family members, friends, colleagues, jobs, homes, our trust in government …. all while trying to keep the “stiff upper lip” of American culture, trying to maintain this stoic attitude of strength and toughness.

“Get tested! Get vaccinated. And then, go out there and spend your money! Buy, Buy, Buy!!! Keep our economy going! That will make it alright. Decorate! Bake! Wear those ugly sweaters! Travel! Even though the newest variant tells your gut to keep your butt at home! Just keep going. Try to maintain a sense of normalcy…… no matter HOW you feel!”

But…the reality for some of us is this: “normal” went out of the window once we lost someone or something. Trying to maintain the traditional sense of a holiday is a push for some of us.

Christmas of 1993 had my husband and I filled with so much joy and excitement. I was pregnant with our first child, and February 2nd was the due date of delivery. I remember being in my Harlem church the Sunday before Christmas, December 19th, and enjoying serving my Sunday School class of 8 year olds. I had been up the previous night making their gifts, and I was tickled to pour out and into them that Christmas. A full day at church (’cause you know in a “Black” church, you are in church ALL DAY). That night I went to sleep, tired, but just filled with such joy from a full day with family and friends. God was with us.

Early that next morning, my body went into labor. By the time we finally got to the hospital, and I was taken to the delivery room, the doctor informed my husband that my blood pressure had risen to a dangerous 250/180. So weird, as I felt nothing unusual other than labor pains. Unbeknownst to me, I was experiencing toxemia/pre-eclampsia, and death was knocking on the door of my unborn child and I. All I wanted to hear was my daughter’s heartbeat, but there wasn’t one. And a few hours later, after enduring pushing and praying that this child would make it, I lay there with my dead baby in my arms. A dead baby. That is almost an oxymoron. Babies represent newness and life. But not that day. My husband shared with me years later that the doctor told him that only one of us would have survived that event. Christmas that year was quiet and still. Yet, God was with us.

This year, our second child, Chloe, was supposed to come home for the holidays from South Korea. However, due to this new strain of the virus, her adopted country has restricted travel outside of their nation at this time. So, we will not see this daughter, who we haven’t seen in person in two years. Another parental ache. Quiet. But God is with us.

There are many today that are experiencing a quiet and still Christmas this year. No matter what pressures there are to get with it and be merry, there is a quietness and stillness that saturates the soul. A thought of remembrance. A memory. A snapshot of times that were “normal” once. But God is with us.

God IS with us, because no matter what we experience in the here and now, one night, over 2000 years ago, a baby was born…ALIVE. And for a purpose. To be the living God among us and with us. To remind us that we are not alone. We are loved. We don’t have to do this life alone. (Who would want to???) God IS with us! Through life. Through death. Through success. Through failures. Through our mistakes. Through our joys. In the birthing room and in the cemetery. In the schoolroom and in the courtroom. On college campuses and in prisons. On the plantation and in the White House.

Immanuel. God with us. Whether we feel it or not. Merry Christmas.

“The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call Him Immanuel” – Matthew 1:23