Christmas Alone

When do you feel most alone at Christmas?

I remember the first time I felt desperately alone at Christmas. I was 22 years old.

In November, I learned about an opportunity to work in an orphanage on the Texas-Mexico border. The orphanage directors encouraged me to come right away, and I was eager to be of service. Even though I knew I would be away from home in a strange place for Christmas, I thought I would be okay because I expected things to be different.

My parents wrapped gifts for me to take along for me to open on Christmas Day. I loaded the car in early December and drove from northwest Iowa to southern Texas. When I arrived, they put me in a guest room behind the directors’ home.

On Christmas Eve, I went with some of the staff to a nearby church to celebrate the birth of Christ. Even though I was with people I barely knew, our common faith in Jesus united us as we worshiped our Lord Emmanuel, who had come so long ago. I left, rejoicing in the gift of a Savior.

The following day, I awoke at my usual time. At home in Iowa, everyone would be up by now. My college-age brothers were probably wrapping last-minute gifts. My youngest brother was probably beside himself with excitement. Mom would be in the kitchen preparing a special breakfast. Even though I knew things would be different here, I expected it to be a day filled with excitement and joy. This home was probably bustling, too.

When the usual time for breakfast arrived, I walked over to the main house. When I walked in, the nanny was feeding baby Benji cereal while their toddler played nearby. Drawn curtains blocked the morning sunlight. Everyone else in the house was still asleep. That did not surprise me since last night had been a late night.

“What time will we have breakfast?” I asked.

The nanny kept feeding the baby. “Well, today is a day off. Everyone sleeps in, and we eat later.”

Leaving the house, I walked around the neighborhood. Unbidden tears fell as the loss of familiar Christmas traditions overwhelmed me. No grinning family as we enjoyed a special breakfast together. No excited children waiting to open gifts since they would exchange gifts on January 6, “Three Kings’ Day.” Would there even be a special meal later on?

“In everything give thanks,” the verse from Philippians, came to mind. I forced myself to think of blessings as I walked. I thanked God for bringing me here. I relished the beauty of the bougainvillea and poinsettias and stopped to smell the honeysuckle I passed. I breathed in the fresh morning air and felt the timid morning sunlight on my skin as it filtered through the palm trees. I thanked God for all He had done for me, especially for sending the gift of sending His Son, Jesus Christ, to save me from my sin. 

My steps slowed as it hit me with full force. All the embellishments of Christmas had buried the beauty of the masterpiece of God’s love. My tears weren’t about the real reason for Christmas. I was still redeemed. Jesus was still with me. It wasn’t even because I missed home, though I certainly did. I had allowed the extras to hijack the centerpiece of the good news of God becoming a man. I could still have a wonderful Christmas even though none of my family traditions would be part of this Christmas. And I wasn’t with family and close friends.

When I reflect on that first Christmas alone, I thank God for the experience. Other Christmases away from family and loved ones took on a different perspective. No longer would it be about me and my traditions. My morning alone gave me more time to pray, read the Bible, listen to Christmas carols, and thank God for the great gift of His Son.

I’ll spend Christmas with family this year, but I do not want their presence to crowd out His presence. When I awake, I hope my first greeting will be to Him. When we sit down to eat or talk, may we speak to Him and about Him. And when I go to bed at night, I want my last thoughts to be of Him.

May Jesus be your most loved person during your Christmas celebration, whether you are alone or with people you love.