(Post by: Lilly Hobbs)
This morning I awoke, not with feelings of Christmastime cheer, but with feelings of grief mingled with sadness and a sense of heaviness.
Our 14 year old dog, Ruby, passed away two years ago today, and even as I write those words, a lump still forms in my throat and tears still swell in my eyes.
I can almost relive the night of December 3rd and December 4th in my mind, which I love and hate all in the same instant.
I am confident many of you know all too well the emotions and feelings I am describing.
I read a quote earlier today which said, “The past communes with the present as we march forward in time.”
So, the question I am contemplating today is not an easy or enjoyable one to say the least, but I do believe it is an essential one…
What is one to do when grief makes every effort to enter in during Christmas?
In other terms, what am I to do on December 4th when grief grips me and attempts to hold my heart and mind hostage?
Because honestly, I don’t know.
Sure, I know all the “right” things to say, but that’s not what I’m needing today and I’m trusting you’re needing more, maybe you’re even desperate for more, too.
In C. S. Lewis’ book, “The Magician’s Nephew,” Digory, the main character, has a mother who is extremely ill, and everyone believes she may die soon as a result. Digory’s hope is that he will find something which he can take back to their world to heal his mother.
Allow us to enter into Digory’s world, which is what I usually do on days like today. I relate so much with Digory’s story that it almost hurts.
Following the creation of a new world which he witnesses firsthand, Digory comes face-to-face with the great Lion whose name is none other than Aslan. Aslan is meant to be a mirroring of Jesus in Lewis’ Narnia series.
“’Son of Adam.” said Aslan. “Are you ready to undo the wrong that you have done to my sweet country of Narnia on the very day of its birth?”
“Well, I don’t see what I can do,” said Digory. “You see, the Queen ran away and—”
“I asked, are you ready?” said the Lion.
“Yes,” said Digory. He had had for a second some wild idea of saying “I’ll try to help you if you’ll promise to help my mother,” but he realized in time that the Lion was not at all the sort of person one could try to make bargains with. But when he had said “yes,” he thought of his mother, and he thought of the great hopes he had had, and how they were all dying away, and a lump came in his throat and tears in his eyes, and he blurted out:
“But please, please—won’t you—can’t you give me something that will cure my mother?”
Up till then he had been looking at the Lion’s great feet and the huge claws on them; now, in his despair, he looked up at his face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion’s eyes.
They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory’s own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his mother than he was himself” (Lewis, 1983).
Aslan doesn’t go on to explain why Digory’s mother is sick or what the purpose of it all is. Neither does he promise to heal her in that moment, but what He asks Digory to do is trust Him. He does not act as if he doesn’t care, in fact, Digory felt as if Aslan cared more about his mother than he did.
And the truth is, Aslan did.
This particular passage ends with Aslan looking Digory in the eyes and saying, “’My son, my son. I know. Grief is great. Only you and I in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another’” (Lewis, 1983).
So today, on December 4th, I’m choosing to simply sit with the Lion who weeps, and perhaps that’s what you need, too.
Not someone to fix it. Not someone to explain it. Just Someone who knows. Someone who says, “My child, I know.”
Aslan told Digory, “Let us be good to one another.” So maybe that is our invitation this Advent:
To be gentle.
To be present.
To be kind, to ourselves and to the people who are hurting beside us.
If grief comes knocking during this Christmas season, may you know that you are not alone at the door.
References
Lewis, C. S. (1983). The Magician’s Nephew. Harper Trophy.
The Few 
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