The Blue Stocking with Silver Glitter

 

    

    The fire was roaring, crackling, and popping. It was Monday December 24^th,, 2007, Christmas Eve. All felt right in our home that night. We weren’t waiting on Santa, because we had already received our gift months ago; after almost six months in the NICU, our son was home. We were a family at peace, on a night that defines peace, and we were grateful for a miracle son. You might say that we found common ground that night with another couple that came 2000 years before us.

          No one came bringing gifts, however, but we knew that the night was still special. We didn’t need gold to understand that what we had was precious. In fact, our son’s name was written in silver across a blue sock just above the fire that warmed us. God had already provided our miracle that year, and we were in awe of His grace and mercy. That stocking was a reminder of His faithfulness.

          Still, I couldn’t help but look at Eli’s stocking; his name glistening in glitter, against the fire, across the front of an old blue sock. That sock held his entire body a year before, when he was still struggling for life in the NICU. We couldn’t have imagined this day back then. It seemed impossible. But that’s selling God short. Christmas should tell us what He is capable of. A son born 5 months early is nothing to Him…Mary gave birth as a virgin…enough said.

          Elijah was resting on soft bedding we kept near our coffee table. He seemed entranced by the fire. What little vision he had was focused on the flames that kept us warm. Looking back, it was a prelude of the fires to come. This would be his last Christmas…but we couldn’t have known that then. We celebrated in ignorance…and I’m glad we did.

I’m writing this tonight as Paige puts out our Christmas decorations. Her dad brought a tree down today, as he normally does after Thanksgiving, and it kickstarts our celebration of the Lord’s birth. It also begins a season that challenges us to see the miracle…no, not of our son, but of His. 

          It is because of this day that I can celebrate my own son. Because if there’s no miraculous birth, no crucifixion, and no resurrection, then what do I have to hope for? My son is simply gone; another tragic event in life to be eaten by the worms of this world. But my soul tells me different…and yours does too.

          Something in us tells us that there’s more. When we see a mountain or ocean view, our children’s birth, or another event that stirs us in a place we don’t have words for…that’s God image in us, asking us to see Him…to accept Him and His plan for salvation. Yes, even in a world that shuns His name and all that He has blessed us with, there’s still the whisper from his mouth.

          This evening, I am watching my wife, a woman still hurting from the loss of her son and her mother in the same year, yet still choosing to live a life of joy…choosing to show that joy to our daughter in spite of the heartache that may come from hanging that old blue sock on our mantle. 

    The blue sock, with silver glitter, that can remind us of what we’ve lost…the same sock that can show us what we must look to forward to. The old blue stocking that bears, not only our son’s name, but also the faithfulness of God. The item that may be the greatest Christmas decoration we can put out. It just may be the one sight that helps me understand just what God gave up to give us the joy I celebrate each year...in spite of what it looks like I've lost. In truth...it's one of the many things that keeps me at the feet of Jesus. 

         

          Merry Christmas folks.