The Ghost of Christmas Past

This is Sam, dressed as a sheep at his preschool Christmas pageant 4 years ago: 

I thought then (and still do now) that he looked more like vanilla soft serve than a barnyard animal, but whatever. 

He is sitting in our old church, right down the street from his preschool where his teacher borrowed space for their little show, and in background you can see a little portion of a girl who, until 6 months prior to this photo, was my best friend for over 5 years. 

On this day of supporting our happy little nativity lamb, my heart ached. 

We were churchless.

My former pastor "side hugged" me that day. 

I had gone to lunch with aforementioned best friend, fooling myself into believing we were still close. 

I was pregnant with our second child, terrified we would have another preemie with months of NICU visits and multiple surgeries in our future. 

This is Sam at our church's Christmas program this year: 

In 6 months, I will have been away from our old life as long as I've lived our new one. I was so convinced, awkwardly sitting in my very recent past at that little preschool pageant, that my heart would never heal and I would cry every single day for all we lost. 

But now it's nothing more than a vapor of memories that get a little thinner in my mind with every Christmas. 

Sam is six now, and is the most enthusiastic kid alive. 

Charlotte is three-and-a-half and was born 100% healthy and feisty. She still is. 

We have a church again. No, we have a family. 

Our children are surrounded by dozens of kids their age, and we live a life of birthday parties, movie nights and babysitting swaps. Hand-me-downs exchanged between families, and photos of their little cheese smiles shared on Facebook. 

Our pastor and his wife know every dark part within me. And yet they haven't run away, they haven't been concerned with me becoming an embarrassment and they don't tell me where I'm allowed to sit or who I'm allowed to speak to at church. 

In fact, they have gotten in the middle of the ugly and helped me to fight. They always tell me the truth, even when it hurts. They love on our kids like they're their own. 

And with each week that passes, I find long stretches of time have gone by where I've forgotten who I once was, and where I was once at. I don't have to fight to focus on the good in front of me, because the hurt behind me has significantly quieted down. 

I have to really think about it to remember what it feels like to be very afraid. I can barely remember the sound of my best friend's laugh or the smell of the little church dance studio where I spent so much time. 

God has renewed my heart with a life that is pure, noble and lovely. I can be myself, and I'm learning that "myself" is not nearly as terrible, shameful of a thing as I once thought. 

There are still things I miss - exchanging hilarious Christmas gifts with best friend, attending Christmas parties in huge, beautiful houses, not having to worry about ministry finances.....

But this life - the one I'm grateful to now wake up to daily - I would never exchange it for the old. I would never go back. I'm still acutely aware of the fact that I'm safe, I'm loved and I'm free. It's still new enough that I feel it with every beat. 

I think this is what a healthy heart feels like, and I must admit I prefer it.