Room at the Inn

A slightly melancholy, introverted post: take this as your forewarning.

Last night I attended a ‘Blue Christmas Service’. This was a service to provide a little bit of calm and quiet in an otherwise very hectic time of year. There are many people who, whether they want to admit it or not, find Christmas to be a difficult time. 

Some, it’s because they've recently lost a loved one, or a relationship ended, they are grieving, lonely, sad and Christmas makes it all the harder.

Some people, me included, just find the whole season overwhelming. It can feel like a lot of pressure as a mom to provide some sort of meaningful magical experience for your family every year. Whether that’s necessary or not, the consumer model, the movies and Christmas specials on TV imply it. Money’s tight, but the kids still want costly things. Charities ask for more and you want to give, but it never feels like enough. It’s a struggle, for me anyway, to not get caught up in that way of thinking.

For me, this year, I am also working at a job where I feel a certain amount of pressure (mostly self-inflicted, I’ll admit) to not only create something magical and meaningful for my family but a community of families as well.

This year, Christmas has felt like a burden and just a job to get done and over with. I hate that feeling. I hate that I hate Christmas as a result. I hate that I feel that too.

So, the Blue Christmas, a service that provided the opportunity to recognize and honour that burden and a place where it was okay for me to feel that way.

At the start of the service we were given a rock. We held that rock throughout the service, seeing it as first a heavy weight and symbol of the burdens we carry; the grief, sadness, anger, loneliness, depression. Then later we looked at the rock as our strength; a strong foundation.

We were asked to let go of the burdens we carry, not because we no longer cared, or had forgotten or even forgiven the times and people who may have caused us grief, but to lighten the load.

Lighten the load. When those words were spoken, the rock in my hand felt lighter.

For me, I found myself thinking about the innkeeper in the Christian Christmas story. Mary and Joseph are seeking shelter and there is no room at the inn.

That’s how I’ve been feeling of late. My world has seen some major shifts this autumn, my job changed and my whole family is in a state of adjustment as we figure it all out. So many thoughts and memories about the past, all tied up with this change have been surfacing that it has been overwhelming. Then there’s the pressure of Christmas.

It’s been feeling like there is no room at the inn for all of these things and yet they are also things that I cannot turn away. Like the barn in the story, I have a shed out back. I suppose I could metaphorically toss some of this stuff out there until spring.

The wreckage journal has, jokingly, been referred to as my therapy. Last night was therapy for me too. The letting go for me was about asking for God or the Universe or my own mind (whatever you want to call it) for help to find room at the inn (or in the barn) for all these things that I am feeling.

After the service, I wiped my eyes, hoped my mascara hadn't run down my face, and pulled my wreckage journal out of my bag. After letting go of our rocks, we had lit candles. I found a page in my journal and going to the table of candles I dripped wax from them all over the page.

I feel better about Christmas today. There’s still no room at the inn, but the burden feeling has lifted. A bit.

Candle wax. Didn't really make a print
on the other page tho