When All Goes Dark: Christmas Reflections on Grief and Light

Every December, I feel my heart and body brace themselves for another blow. As twinkly lights sparkle in windows and the collective mood gets merrier, a sense of dread typically settles over my heart. I struggle to pull the Christmas decorations out of storage with my girls, and tears often fall. 

You see, the Christmas season dredges up a lot of grief in my heart. 

I got the call very early in the morning. My sweet Mom was declining rapidly, her body ravaged after a five-year battle with cancer. She was ready to go Home. So we gathered around her—speaking love, holding her hand, singing hymns and praying for strength to face a loss deeper than the ocean. A week after Christmas, she went Home to Jesus. As I packed away my ornaments that year, each one a gift from her, the realization settled over my heart—Christmas would never feel the same again. 

And I was right. 

But as grief often does, it softened over the years—like a worn-in pair of blue jeans. The pain and loss still lingers—some days raging like a storm—but mostly it feels like a dull ache. Little did I know this loss was only the beginning of my journey through the valley of the shadow of death. 

Five years later, I sat in my living room under the glow of Christmas lights as my husband confessed to infidelity. In one fell swoop, my life shattered. Again. Those first moments felt like a nightmarish haze, but glancing over at my Christmas tree and seeing the gifted ornaments from my Mom felt like a gut punch of epic proportions. 

Thus, I brace myself as the winter days shorten and inch towards Christmas. 

Maybe you feel this way too? Grief surges like a tidal wave for so many during the holidays—wayward children, missing loved ones, crushed expectations. As we move towards the darkest days of the year, hope and joy often flicker and wane like the dying embers of a fire. Some years, it all feels too painful, and I long to avoid Christmas altogether. That’s a hard feeling to carry when the world around seems to burst with glad tidings and cheer. 

But for those plunged in the deep waters of grief, Light shimmers and speaks a truer story than the darkness. Jesus, our Dawn from on high, stepped into this world to pierce the shadows of death.[1] Christmas is for those trudging through darkness! 

Because of our God’s merciful compassion,
the dawn from on high will visit us
to shine on those who live in darkness
and the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.
(Luke 1:78-79)

Is there any more peaceful or reassuring moment than dawn breaking through the blackest night? Light pierces the darkness. The sun's rays reach forth in glorious ember, saturating the earth with light. Warmth floods in as the sky illuminates. And the light grows brighter and brighter until the day is fully born. 

That is our Jesus, our Dawn from on high. He breaks through the thickest dark. He shines on those living in the pit, the mire, the gutter, the valley of death. And as he moves in—moves near—the Light of his presence grows brighter, Brighter, BRIGHTER until Hope is fully born within us again. 

Whatever feelings of grief and dread you may be carrying this Christmas season, may I offer three encouragements I’ve been slowly learning in my own life? 

First, the darkness will never win when Jesus steps in. 

“Even the darkness is not dark to you. The night shines like the day; darkness and light are alike to you” (Psalm 139:12). The shadows of grief we feel as moms are no match for Jesus—because darkness is not dark to him. He is stronger. He is full of majesty and splendor. He “wraps himself in light” as a garment (Psalm 104:2). When Jesus is near, shadows flee. We can cling to him and rest beneath his robes of light. 

Second, because of Jesus, we have the capacity to hold immense grief and ever-growing hope at the same time.

We hold our grief in one hand because we have to. It is present in this fallen world—an uninvited guest at our table. It shows up when we least expect it. It shows up when we most expect it, too. It’s there. It affects us; it affects our kids. And grief is overwhelmingly heavy.

But as Christian moms, we can also hold ever-increasing hope. It is present—a gift at our table. We have nothing to do with it. It is breathed into our hearts, day after day, by our Dawn from on high. We hold this hope with white-knuckled ferocity because we never want to lose it. It is keeping us afloat, spurring us onward, tugging our hearts toward Home.

Some days (most days, really!), as I navigate single motherhood and the loss of my own mom, my grief feels too heavy to carry and I want to be rid of it. I wish I could shake it from my hands, but it’s stuck like glue.

Some days (most days, really!), it feels like my hope is a wisp. I’m afraid it will vanish from sight if I blink. I grasp tighter and tighter for fear it will slip away.

But here’s what’s true: Jesus is in the midst of it all—holding all things together.[2] 

He wraps one strong hand around our grief and pulls it to his heart. He carries our grief tenderly. He is gentle with us. Remember—our darkness is not dark to him.

He wraps his other strong hand around our hope and closes his fist tight. He reminds us our hope is Christ, so it is immovable. It will not shift. It will never fade. Hope will continually dawn, morning by morning.

And he brings those hands together with unshakeable power. He wraps himself around us in the tightest embrace and holds us together. He holds ALL of it together—our grief, our hope. All of it held in his strong and tender hands.

Finally, it has always been, and always will be, about a God who illuminates darkness with light. 

From the very first command of “Let there be light” (Genesis 1:3), to our Dawn from on high breaking into humanity as the Life and Light of the world,[3] to the future new Jerusalem where there is no need for sun or stars “for the glory of God illuminates it, and its lamp is the Lamb” (Revelation 21:23)—the fullness of Scripture tells the story of our God who interrupts darkness with un-dimmable, unbreakable LIGHT! 

So, when all goes dark? 

Fix your eyes on the horizon and hold tight. Light is coming. Dawn is breaking. You are eternally safe. You are held together. Trust it will not always be dark. Remember, Jesus is stronger than the darkest night. As he steps near, Light WILL break forth.[4] 

Advent reminds us that Light, our glorious Dawn, has been sent for those living in the shadow of death. And he will guide our feet forward, friends, “into the way of peace” (Luke 1:79). Amen.

[1] John 1

[2] Colossians 1:17

[3] John 1:4-5

[4] John 1