Blue Christmas: For Those Who Have Lost

Listen to the radio and you’ll hear Elvis croon his Christmas classic.

“I’ll have a blue Christmas without you.”

Nancy Fransen, who blogs at Out of My Alleged Mind, wrote about the loss of her father, and the wistfulness of her mother this time of year. In her post, “You can dance if you want,” she reflected on the Elvis classic song, Blue Christmas, and her general disdain for it. It makes her mother cry.

While there is plenty of merriment in the air, you’ll often catch a dissenting look in someone’s eyes. You’ll notice the wistful way they remember. Every Christmas carol, every celebration, every decoration holds a memory that is at the same time both fulfilling and painful.

Christmas, we’re told, is a time for cheer and joy. It’s a season for wishes and dreams come true. But for those who have experienced loss it’s simply a memory of what they don’t have. Try as they can, the Christ child and redemption never seems to overcome the sense of hollow pain.

Nancy has a wise solution. Embrace both worlds.

“Maybe the best way to do so is by fully entering into the blue-ness of the season, daring ourselves to tell the truth about what’s messed up, broken, and sad in our lives,” she writs.

I can understand the logic of this.

You never know the joy of being found until you are lost. You’ll never know grace until you need it. You’ll never run to a Savior until you realize you need one. The twist of loss and gain is locked in a holy embrace. It all defies explanation until you walk in it.

For me, I never squinted at the sun until I emerged from pitch black.

And really, Christmas is all about a piercing light that broke the endless, hopeless litany of a people without hope.

The glad tidings sound ever-so-sweet compared to the chords of a world that can’t carry a tune.

What songs make you blue? Which ones lift you up?