Christmas 2014

12/25/2014

Christmas 2014

Papa,

Sometimes with all this happiness, I feel like I’m dancing in between two very distinct realities. I write about stories and fairytales so often because honesty, I’m not sure that anything could be this absolutely true and also, awesome. I think about that boy a lot anyways, Papa.

It’s not like I can convince anybody, Papa. But the thing is, don’t you ever feel like something is too good to be true? I can’t convince the people that don’t know me and haven’t lived through everything right beside me, and I know I don’t have to convince you. But the thought of tiny milestones and even him showing up seems waaaaaaaaaay too good to be true.

The part about time and distance having no bearing on this? Well yeah, it’s true. It’s so funny to me that all my people keep trying to protect me from something I could never control. It’s weird to see my sister with a boyfriend. It’s weird to have my mom make hints that aren’t really hints but concern.

At the end of the day, to think that you could have designed someone so beautiful and conveniently placed him in my vicinity so I could believe in all of this, that it was always all the way true. I just can’t fathom it. In all the dark times I have lived through, it is so much greater then all of them. I can’t convince people except to hope that they realize someday I meant every last word, but in the meantime, this kind of thing doesn’t die, it doesn’t fade, it grows. It’s so strange to me, and it seems continuously too happy.

From the girl that used to cry of too much happiness to being able to cry of being happy, I have no words but gratitude. At the end of the day, all I want for him is his health, happiness, and safety. I want literally nothing for Christmas I’m so dead serious I wouldn’t even blink. How strange, they must think, that someone my age wouldn’t just want the newest iPhone.

I never cared and I certainly don’t care now, Papa. What scares me most isn’t really a thing anymore. Sure, I get scared here and there of little things. Even when people reveal the scariest pieces of their character and it’s all plain on the table to see, it is still so much smaller than this, infinitely so. To know how much you love all of us when I look at him, write that in your damn book. It’s just so strange, because once you know that a crumb of it is true, you realize it was always all true, no ifs ands or buts.

I read Revelation yesterday, and I don’t know how many people would say this, but it actually calmed me down. To know that Christ paid for literally everything that is described and know it when I think about him, now that is a gift greater than anything I could ever ask for or deserve. I try to be kind and patient and fail, but at the end of the day, I cannot even fathom how much you love us all.

The thing about it is even if I’m bitterly wrong, it won’t hurt. I’ve thought about it so many times and ruminated and doubted that I know that rejection means nothing anymore, just so long as I knew it was always all true. He probably still doesn’t believe me, if I had to guess he’s still trying to resolve a lot of things. Don’t we all need to conquer our demons alone? I think so, at least. Thank you for orchestrating all this in a very healing way, Papa. Even if he never believes me or believes you like this, to know that you would give such a gift is so much more than I could have ever imagined.

It’s so funny to me sometimes when I’m at church or talking about Jesus or anything. People try to tell me I must not know what I’m talking about, I’m too young. Or they try to tell me I am not old enough to understand pain, not truly. Or they tell me I’m just wrong.

I can’t explain it because there are no words to explain, but I ask that you care for each and every way in us exactly as you always have; it is still too much for us to comprehend. The broken googles I look between never had any comparison to your great love, they just don’t. You bless me because you know me, and you still call me loved. There are no words.

I still think if he were to show up I’d have to ask if it was real. Like seriously, really real. It would be like a Ghost, after all this. I still think I’d have to sit down or something. Reality.

And he’s not all that nice, not if you talk to him in person, not always (according to the same people who would tell me I’ve always been lying). But I’ve never believed them anyways and guess what? I still love him. They can put that in their bitterness pipes and smoke it, for all I care. I still get dumb and laughy when I think about him, and it is no compromise for me to ask for health, happiness, and safety, that is still too much to ask for. But I’ll ask for it anyways.

It is so weird to me how so many people could take for granted things like first kisses and hand holding and sex and really, the whole gamut. It is so inextricably strange. Obviously, Papa, if you have the privilege of loving someone who cares enough about you to really mean it, you need to savor that. I just hope that I never get jaded like that. I get the feeling you won’t let me, and I believe you. But I never want to believe it’s just a fairytale again, not when you have shown me reality and it is so much more beautiful than any one person could ever dream, let alone all of us combined. Babel’s got nothing on this. It’s like something broke, a piñata shattering out blessings over all the earth, and that piñata was the cross. I just can’t believe it, and then you prove it in front of me all over again. Ridiculous.

It’s nice to not need anything. Like, not money, not time, not energy, not health, not anything, Papa. I need nothing. Not one little thing, not a speck. Now, that’s really really weird. I don’t care if anyone believes that, because I know they will have to fight to believe it if they believe it at all. But it’s true.

Christmas, an infant for the sake of the world. I think of my family, of my nephews and niece, and the thought of any of them being cursed like that is enough to make my eyes swim. I think of the babies I aspire to have, and I just can’t breathe. All of the children that die every day in similar ways or just as unloved, just ask me to weep and I could, I swear. It’s enough to make anyone dizzy, if they’re paying attention.

It’s so weird to me that I asked for none of this, and you loved me enough to do it all anyways. As an infant, you loved me enough. As a sacrifice, that too was love, more than any of us will ever understand. To know that it was all paid for by an infant that always knew…there are no words.

Thank you. Thank you for today, for any more Christmases I may have, for happiness of the world and the goodness we can all claim in being yours. It isn’t ours, but it has our nametag now. What a gift. I simply can’t understand.

Christmas is about heart-warming bullshit, right? Well, add this to the list then, I trust you. That all of it could be just as fucking fabulous as none of us ever deserved?? Let me sit the hell down. I just can’t. How about that re-definition of urban dictionary “I can’t” slang for you? I just can’t believe that you would love us like this. It isn’t about logic, it’s about faith. And I would have never known even a sliver as much if the entire world didn’t go up in flames and then break way into peace like this. Thank God.

Anyways Papa, thank you. I’ll talk to you soon anyways, I try to talk to you more than I think of that boy, and that is a tall fucking order (you know). Whatever. Life is too precious to spend any more precious words that aren’t going to do it justice.

Love you,

Haley

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haleynoohra

I am a second-grade teacher and pastor-to-be who loves people. I spend my weekends with friends or wandering the museums of DC alone and with a journal, trying to put words on the places of the soul that still feel wordless. I spent most of my days at school trying to learn patience through my students and running on sheer nerdy passion. I follow Jesus Christ, and savor that as my most important identity--that I am a child of God, as are infinite others, regardless of their other identities. Christ is my one thing.

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