A Christmas (with Cancer) Story

"Truly He taught us to love one another. His law is love and His gospel is peace. Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother. And in His name all oppression shall cease" - O Holy Night lyrics by John Sullivan Dwight (1855)

I've always lived a life of abundance and privilege, and my holidays have reflected that. Beloved family gathered annually to celebrate Christmas, and we were wrapped in the comfort of our homes and the season. Toys were piled beneath the tree each Christmas morning, my parents were home for the holidays thanks to their safe and salaried jobs, and we stuffed our bellies with everything we wished for - from homemade roasts with mashed potatoes to chocolate Santas from Fannie May candies.

Of the major Christian holidays, Christmas is the glory and joy-filled one. We commemorate the virgin birth of a tiny light in a dark world. Bells ring, angels sing, and gifts we bring. Bright lights are strung from house eaves, people smile on street corners, candles are lit on tabletops around the world (especially when lovely Hanukkah celebrations coincide as neatly as this year), and we open our pockets and cupboards to those in need. There's even a ubiquitous jolly, bearded, and portly elf dressed in holiday garb ho-ho-ho-ing his way across shopping centers and the night sky.

And, the music! There are triumphant carols, trumpets blaring, ethereal harmonies. My lovably loud and musically inclined family has definitely gone door-to-door serenading neighbors and strangers alike, trudging through the mucky Chicagoland snow and slush to put bemused smiles on many faces.

Christmas is peace and light and toasty beverages and music and open hearts and yummy desserts and giving and loving and all things cozy and shiny in a cold, bleak world. So, cancer at Christmas just feels wrong. Seriously and completely unjust. How can one feel the spirit of the season when I've been scrooged by fate (and, God)? Seemingly, the whole world makes merry, and I get a lump of cancer.

And, yet, as I sat in the pew at church last night, singing gleefully alongside my sister and parents, I suddenly felt something. Not my heart quadrupling in size a la the Grinch... but, a new understanding and perspective crept into my conscience.

We know the Christmas story is not actually about colorful holiday bulbs, perfect happiness, endless presents, or unquestioned joy. Baby Jesus was born under great duress - a Roman despot, high and burdensome taxation, an impoverished region. His family's trek to Bethlehem wasn't under ideal circumstances, and, even though the stable was much needed shelter, residing with farm animals and amidst used hay isn't terribly pleasant. The Biblical stories depict shepherds who spent their lives outside on hillsides showing up uninvited by the family and wise men with practical gifts arriving from afar 10 days later. Angels and a gleaming star appear briefly in the tales, but Mary, Joseph, and Jesus were alone in a barn in their hometown for weeks because a tyrant wanted to control their finances and destinies. I mean, it's not as dark and cruel as the Good Friday/Easter story, but the original Christmas wasn't reindeer games and sleigh rides.

My nephews enjoying toys from Santa

The human condition is rife with challenges. My cancer isn't particularly special; it's part of experiencing mortality. We all suffer from the trials, perils, heartaches, sadness, loss, absences, illnesses, and disappointments of life. In the Christian faith, believers know God sent his only son to a scary place as a teensy and helpless creature to be dependent on poor, unwedded teenagers in a time when a greedy empire endeavored to control every aspect of its peasants' lives.

The importance of seeking bright spots in the darkness is what struck me as I sat in church, dimly lit by candles, singing Silent Night. All is never as calm or bright as we may wish, and heavenly peace is only an aspiration on earth. Cancer sucks, but for today I'll watch my nephews light up as they, too, experience the privileges of being in our family. I'll sit next to the tree laden with memories in ornament form, sing Christmas carols in my parents' crowded living room, see my loved ones unwrap thoughtful gifts I purchased, and delve into delicious novelties.

I wish you a merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, and a joyous holiday season. If you so choose, I hope you find warmth, light, and love today. I'll be looking for it with you.