Photos in the post via Pinterest, Flickr and Google Images.
Merry Christmas, yogis, friends, and lovely readers! I hope you are having a beautiful day.
I wanted to share a few heartfelt reflections today. This has been such a meaningful and compassion-filled week. I've been spending time surrounded by family -- sharing meals together, speaking openly, playing games, laughing, supporting each other, and just generally being close.
I've found it's the small things that are such wonderful reminders of what Christmas is really about -- talking to my nephew for the first time as he bumbles over little words and calls me "auntie," dancing with my brother in law and helping him build forts in the living room, sharing a kiss under the mistletoe with my husband.
This year, I have also been blessed to experience something I've always wanted to at Christmastime: the chance to give freely to a(n almost complete) stranger.
As many of you know, last year I embarked on a unique journey with 8 very special yogis all around the country. Through my blog, I decided to sponsor them and support their yoga journeys for the year. While I was able to offer them free classes, send them written support, and even mail some gear and goodies their way, none of those gifts seem as meaningful as this one.
This week, my heart went out to Beth, who lives in Missoula, Montana, and is having a very hard month. She recently lost her unborn baby. Hearing the news broke my heart, and I continue to grieve as I've followed Beth's poignant posts on her own blog. Every time I sit down to read her reflections and think about what she's going through, I've wondered, what can I do to help? Is there anything I can offer?
What can you offer to someone you hardly know who has just lost her child?
I pored over Beth's elegant yet agonizing words, admiring her as a woman and a writer during this difficult time. I was particularly struck by this passage:
This grief thing is so . . . strange. It’s hard and confusing sometimes, feels good other times, and is unpredictable all the time.
How can I tell of the complexity of hope and fear and doubt and love occupying my every breath? But it is one that every part of me longs to be answered.
There is love, and there is gratitude. After Eve died, everything was as easy as it could possibly have been. An unshakeable peace, a short labor, easy delivery, no complications, a quick-healing body, safety from postpartum depression — not to mention the courageous, empathetic love that our friends and family have surrounded us with since we invited them into our loss. God has not left us alone in this.
Reading these words, I was inspired by the way Beth could see the greater good within her struggle and how she has been able to recognize the power and grace of God even as she grieves.
What hard work that must be, I realized, scanning the words on my screen again. I bet she could really use some rest and relaxation after all that she's going through. And so I decided there is something I can offer Beth-- small and incomparable as it is in the face of her story -- but I went for it.
I sent messages to a bunch of massage therapists in the area, and found not one but two ladies (one from Healthy Hummingbird Massage and one from Red Willow Learning Center) who also know the true meaning of Christmas. They each quickly offered to give away an hour of their services for massage and holistic reiki therapy.
Simple, yet full of love: some bodywork R&R, a Christmas story worth remembering, and a glimmer of hope in a world that sometimes feels dark. Beth, these are my gifts to you.
Thank you for sharing your gifts of courage, honesty, and faith. Thank you for sharing the gift of love. Most of all, thank you for reminding us that it's OK if the holidays feel like a paradoxical time -- filled with love and hope and togetherness, and also a poignant sadness for those we've lost and can no longer enjoy them with. Thank you, Beth, for remembering that at Christmas, our God brings the ultimate gift of joy and grace, a pure hope in the form of a beautiful child, a hope that's worth holding onto.
PS Another inspiring quote from Beth's blog:
“Gifts of grace come to all of us. But we must be ready to see and willing to receive these gifts. It will require a kind of sacrifice, the sacrifice of believing that, however painful our losses, life can still be good — good in a different way then before, but nevertheless good. I will never recover from my loss and I will never got over missing the ones I lost. But I still cherish life. . . I will always want the ones I lost back again. I long for them with all my soul. But I still celebrate the life I have found because they are gone. I have lost, but I have also gained. I lost the world I loved, but I gained a deeper awareness of grace. That grace has enabled me to clarify my purpose in life and rediscover the wonder of the present moment.” (Jerry Sittser, A Grace Disguised)