An Unexpected Christmas Story
I recline on the couch, a warm blanket over my legs and a heavy book in my lap while the two big kids in their pajamas spread out on the floor with colored pencils and coloring pages. We’re reading the final book of the Harry Potter series at the moment. I admit, Harry Potter and Deathly Hallows is an unexpected choice for a Christmas read. The haunting story that felt appropriate when we started in October is less so when paired with jolly old Saint Nicholas in the month of December.
Tonight, though, by the glow of the Christmas lights against the darkened sky outside the windows, the mood fits. Christmas contains its own magic, too. Besides, it’s Christmas Eve in the chapter we are reading now so the timing feels justified.
I begin reading with the chapter entitled “Bathilda’s Secret.” I get the feeling that something big is about to be revealed and I’m eager to get into the story. This is not my first read through the series. I know how the story ends. I know Harry survives (Oops. Spoiler alert.) But it’s the middle parts I’m fuzzy about. Each turn of a chapter I find myself more and more curious about how they get to the happy ending. I’m just as engrossed with the story as the children at my feet.
The problem with getting into a well written story, or maybe the joy of it, is sometimes you get too into the story. You forget to watch out for the plot twists. Maybe it was the cozy blanket, the twinkle of the lights, or the peaceful snowy scene in the story, but I let my guard down. I, like Harry, got so caught up in wanting answers that I forgot about the danger that lurks around every corner in Harry’s world.
Partway through a paragraph, as if I am watching the story happen in my own living room, I gasp mid sentence and scream. I won’t tell you why in case you are a unicorn who has not yet read the book. But I can tell you it was startling, gruesome actually. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought Harry was a goner.
My kids both startle at my voice and look up at me wide eyed. Caroline climbs onto the couch snuggling next to me and Elliott follows suit. I’m not sure if they want to be comforted or feel they need to comfort me. “Oh no what is happening! Mommy, you said he would be alright! You said Harry wouldn’t die!”
“I know! It’s alright. He’s going to be okay,” I promise them, trying to take deep breaths to calm my racing heart. “Just be patient. He survives. I promise.” I say this for myself as much for them.
I don’t know how many times we have had this conversation in the last four years since we started this journey. With every building tension in each book, they ask me the same question. “Tell me he lives, mom. Just tell me Harry survives.”
“He does,” I promise each time.
But now here we are in the final book, and Harry is making it difficult to believe. There is a happy ending, right? Right?
***
One of the projects I have worked on in therapy (it’s so much cuter to call them projects, am I right?) is being more present. I have a tendency to brush aside challenges by saying “well, if I can just get through X then…” or “it will be so much better when it’s Y…” I once thought this was keeping faith. My therapist reminds me that while it might be a hopeful way to view the future, I also need to find a way to address the present. “Notice,” she tells me over and over again. Notice where you are now, in the present feelings and realities. Don’t try to fix it or rush to get it over. Be in the moment and simply notice.
Advent, on the other hand, seems to ask something different from me. Wait! She shouts in every devotion message. Anticipate! Prepare! Be expectant!
So how does this fit with my practice of remaining present? I’ve wrestled with this all season. The differing messages conflict in my mind. Do I stay in the moment or do I wait for something better?
The thing is, what we are waiting for isn’t what I wrestle with. I believe in the whole story God lays out for us in his Word. I believe in the hopeful ending as much as the beginning. That’s actually the easy part for me. It’s not difficult for me to believe in the Goodness of God prevailing above all else. I’m a sucker for a happy ending.
But it’s the middle part of the story where the tension lies. It’s the suffering and the grief and the fear and the mistakes but also the beauty and the friendship and the love. This isn’t a TikTok video. You can’t skip to the good part. You have to stay here, now, be present, pay attention, notice, and yes also wait. But I wonder if the word WAIT is less active than I once knew it to be.
wait /wāt/ verb
to stay where one is or delay action until a particular time or until something else happens.
Stay. My eyes linger on that word. Stay right here, in this story, until something else. This sounds a whole lot like presence.
***
I think of this struggle tonight as we sit together, my children and I, wanting to believe in Harry’s good story, too. He lives, I've been telling them over and over. Harry survives the terror of Voldemort. Goodness will win at the end, just like I always promise. Knowing this helps us get through the difficult chapters. But there’s more to the story I want them to know. There is adventure ahead, and friendship and strength, and, yes, grief, too. But there is also love. That’s really the whole point of the story, the best part of the story. Dumbledore has been telling us about love from the beginning. But sometimes we need reminders to find it. Sometimes we have to read the same story year after year to remember how to believe.
Sitting here by the light of the Christmas tree, a symbol of light in the darkness, of love that survives even in the harshest seasons, I’m reminded of how believing in the goodness of a happy ending is what helps us stay present in the messy middle, to wait in peace.
“Keep going mom. We have to finish this chapter.” My children pull me back to the present, to the glowing room and the heavy book on my lap. Their eyes are still wide with hesitation, but also, perhaps, curiosity, like an expectant waiting. They believe me when I tell them it will be okay. But still, they want to know how, they want to know more. And so I pull them under the warmth of my blanket and we keep reading, uncovering the story together.
Image created by @phoenixfeatherscalligraphy for C+C, 2021
This post was written as part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to read the next post in this series "Contrast.”
PS. For more words and wonderings from my corner, be sure to sign up for my Raise & Shine Letter! There’s always a good story or two, and lots of artfully curated GIFs.