I Need a Silent Night

Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith are my two favorite Christian artists.  They have unwittingly written the soundtrack to my life.  At every stage, there's always been a poignant song which has hit home.

As a mom, two of Amy Grant's Christmas songs never fail to bring on the tears.  Breath of Heaven is one, I Need a Silent Night is the other:

"I need a silent night, a holy night

To hear an angel voice through the chaos and the noise

I need a midnight clear, a little peace right here

To end this crazy day with a silent night

What was it like back there in Bethlehem

With peace on earth, good will toward men?

Every shepherd's out in the field

Keeping watch over their flock by night

And the glory of the Lord shone around them

And they were so afraid

And the angels said fear not for behold

I bring you good news of a great joy that shall be for all people

For unto you is born this day a Savior, who is Christ the Lord

And his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace"

This song especially makes me realize the things--which aren't really things at all--I'm missing in my life.

It's no secret the past three years have been really difficult for me.  One of Amy Grant's albums in particular has been the accompaniment music to my grief.  I miss my best friend, I miss my sister--I desperately miss what might have been with both of them.  What should have been.

 I'm not over it, I'm still searching for comfort and much-needed solace.  I'm begging for a little peace right here.  PLEASE.  I need to hear an angel voice through all of this fucking chaos and noise.  I want to believe again that Abba is still good, even if not (Daniel 3:18).  I want my faith in humanity restored.  I want my life back to the way it was.  I want to laugh and smile and feel that genuine contentment I had.  I just want normal again.  I'm tired of learning lessons, I'm tired of--I'm just plain tired.  Christmas only makes grief that much more profound--the empty chair at the table, the laugh that is missing, the silence which becomes deafening.  Most days I can stuff the pain down, I can keep it at bay, I try to ignore it, I try to go on about my ways pretending that shadow isn't hanging over my shoulder.  However, even with the resounding message of hope, the holidays make it nearly impossible to ignore that looming pall.

Today, it's been three years without my best friend.  Three fucking years.  I still miss her as much today as I did those first weeks, as the shock wore off and reality sank in.  There's still an ache deep in my gut.  A feeling of utter anguish, with peace and comfort just out of my grasp. 

The funny thing is, I know Angie would shake her head at me for carrying on this way.  She'd be upset with me for my inability to move forward.  My grief would absolutely earn me a stern lecture from her!  When her oldest daughter died, Angie had these prophetic words for me, "I miss her so bad, but I know she's in heaven and I would never take that away from her."  I remember the look in my friend's eyes, her smile when she said that.  The moment we shared was tragic, wistful and oddly amazing at the same time.  I had no words were for her, but words were not what she needed.  Although neither of us knew it then, Angie was telling me how she wanted to be grieved.  I would never take my friend away from the beauty she gets to live with now, but there are so many things I want to tell her and there are still days I deeply want her back.  The stupid fucking god-awful irony of grief is quite often, the person you need to help you through the pain is the person you are grieving.  I need Angie to tell me how to do this.  I know she would want me to celebrate her life.  I also know the best way to do so is to stop mourning her so much, concentrate on my family and do for others.  That's what she would want.

At a time in my life when I no longer wanted to believe in God and I was so very angry at Him, when I lost faith in myself, no longer wanted to live and was making really stupid choices, when my marriage was failing and I knew I would lose my only child, Angie became a lifeline for me.  Complete strangers when we met, she immediately recognized my need for unconditional love and acceptance, my need for hope, my desperate search for belonging.  At yet another time when I needed hope, peace and the voices of angels amid the chaos and noise in my own head, Angie stepped in and stepped up.  

Easing me into a comfort zone, earning my trust, she first invited me to her home for what her church called "small group," a Bible study of sorts, but more importantly, a gathering of friends who became family.  Then she invited me to her church.  It grew from there.  I grew from there.  My family grew from there.  My marriage repaired itself, my mental health restored, my relationship with Abba healed.  Even better, I healed.  I no longer felt the daily need to escape, the daily desire to just check out.  

Angie was a gift.  Even when her own family often went without, she made sure the neighborhood kids did not.  She made sure those kids felt loved, she made sure they knew they had a family, she made sure they had a home to go to when they needed to escape their own chaos and noise.  Angie had the biggest heart.  This is how I choose to remember her.  The world is so much better for having had her light shine in it, and certainly at a deficit without her any longer.  

This is my request for today:  Be Angie to someone in need.  Carry on her legacy.  Help someone fight through their fear.  Help someone make it through another day, and then another, and another.  Be the calm in their storm.  Give them the anchor they need.  Hold the door open for someone.  Make a meal for a friend and leave it on their porch.  Treat a stranger to a meal or coffee. Tuck a note for a tired mama in the diaper aisle.  Hide a $20 with a Christmas turkey or under the lid of a can of formula.  Hand out flowers to strangers.  Hug someone who needs it.  Compliment a stranger.  Smile and ask how someone else's day is going.  Call a friend you haven't spoken with in a while.  Encourage someone.  Listen well.  Help someone find the peace they need, be that angel voice, help someone have that silent night we are all so desperately in need of.  Be someone's lifeline.  Lead someone to hope.

It costs nothing to be kind, and often takes very little of your time.  

Most importantly: Please, love big, love hard and love well.  

The world needs more Angies.