At the end of the year, it is almost an automatic human response to analyze and evaluate the previous 12 months of life – or at least it has been the case for me in the past.
Maybe, it’s just my age, or maybe, it’s the teacher in me, but I have always tended to look backward at this time of the year.
But this year, I am trying to avoid the rearview mirror as much as possible. I know! I know! I cannot live like that forever if I intend to grow as a believer.
But this believer truly believes that God is glad that I have averted my eyes from the past to place my eyes on a future filled with hope and delight in Him.
And let me tell you, as this is the second Christmas without our son Chris here on earth with us, it’s a daunting task at times not to stare into that rearview mirror.
Chris Lucius loved the Christmas holiday, more than all the rest of us combined. In fact, he loved any excuse to celebrate and be with his family and friends. The bigger the crowd, the better. He just loved being together, and often, he was the witty, loving, but always sarcastic master of ceremonies at our gatherings.
So, no, it is not easy to keep my gaze on the reason for the season. That task was also left up to Chris in years past. Even as a child, he was the one who made sure we celebrated “Jesus’s birthday.”
And, truth be told, I barely remember Christmas last year. It is a muddled memory of laughter and tears. With Chris only having died six months earlier, I realize now that we were still living in the absolute grace of God. He had us in a bubble of protection and love.
This year, the reality is a bit stark, and the grief is even starker.
It’s funny, but most people seem to think that after a year, grief gets a bit easier. After all, it is reasonable to surmise that those who remain after the death of a loved one go through an entire year of “firsts,” and if they survive those first birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays, then every other day of each proceeding year should be a proverbial piece of cake – right?
Wrong!
Making it through one more year only serves as a reminder that there could be a whole lot of other years and years of special events to come. Plus, as a yearlong veteran of grief, the mourner now knows that any given day could bring a plethora of lonesome yearnings for that missing loved one.
And here’s the kicker!
The triggers to those yearnings can come out of nowhere and consist of the absolutely strangest things – like the smell of a new puppy that slings me back in time to the countless puppies that Chris Lucius loved in his lifetime. Or the tiny rocks found in a box that my boy collected over the years from places he visited. Or the Christmas ornaments that I made long ago from the musical mobile that once hung above his baby bed.
Any or all of these things (and a million more unimaginable scenarios) can instantly bring me to my knees in breathless wonder at the fact that my 37-year-old son is no longer here on earth with us.
But Jesus is here! He really, truly is. Of that, I am certain.
He has not only sustained me and my family over the last 18 months, but God has also walked beside us every single day. And in those unexpected moments of grief, when the waves of longing and loneliness come rushing over us, He lifts us over the breakers and carries us safely to shore.
And He does so time and time again.
Sometimes, He does it all by Himself, with a quiet stillness and strength that radiates living, loving, blood-bought grace. Other times, He uses a friend (or a stranger, if need be) to speak words of care at the exactly perfect moment. He has even been known to send a song or some other form of media to minister healing and hope to us in the strangest, most appreciated way. There is really no end to the lengths He has gone to be Immanuel, God with us.
Most of all, He gently nudges us to look beyond our pain – not just as a means of survival, but also as a means of ministry. The truth is, every person on earth is dealing with something, be it loss, fear, anxiety, sickness, or a myriad of other troubles. And the rearview mirror often blocks the Christ-centered view of those walking beside us in this journey of life.
That self-centered, backward view also prevents us from seeing the joy set before us – or even believing that there can be something brighter and better to come. In fact, the rearview mirror competes with our heart’s homing device for heaven.
But, for me, there is no competition! Jesus wins my heart every single time.
So, after more than 17 months of unexpected and unwelcome membership in this grief club, I have come to understand that looking back is only good if I use those backward glances as a tool to magnify and worship the One in Whom my soul delights.
Thankfully, I am learning to use those breath-sucking moments to look upward and forward – like when I recently found our son’s name scribbled in preschool block style (and dated) in the margins of my father’s old Bible.
Yes, the reality of those five simple letters, C H R I S, sent my heart spinning.
But this time, I adjusted the mirror to shine it on the One who holds my precious boy even now. And I thanked Him that way back on February 11, 1990, when Chris wrote those letters at the age of four, God knew fully well that June 2023 (the month Chris died) was coming.
So, I ran my fingers along letters penciled over three decades ago, and I worshipped Him because on Calvary, my Savior overcame death, hell, and the grave – for me and for Chris.
Then, I praised God that even back then, the Father was gently and assuredly drawing my son to Christ through His Word and through the love of my own father.
What a legacy! What a blessing to know that both of those Christ-filled men, my father, and my son, are together around the throne of heaven, waiting for the rest of our family to successfully finish our missions here on earth.
I look forward to that joyous day. And that forward view is the only view that matters – the view toward Home.
