Christmas Music

Maybe it's the 70 degree weather we are having, but for some reason, it doesn't really seem like Christmas yet. We aren't putting up decorations because we are heading to Utah soon and having Christmas there. And while we're singing Christmas songs at choir, I just haven't been listening to much Christmas music.

That changed today as I was sitting in the van, waiting outside Damon's school. He has been getting off the bus really upset by the increased rowdiness of kids on the bus in the afternoon and begged me not to make him ride it anymore. Even the ear plugs I gave him to put in his ears didn't seem to help and yesterday the bus driver told me he was crying because it was just too loud. I made a deal with him that if he'll ride the bus in the morning, I will pick him up until Christmas break. He was willing to go for it, and for the first time in months, I sat in the long line of cars, waiting to pick him up.

Allie didn't take a nap today, and I was hoping she might fall asleep while we waited, so she doesn't turn into Monster Allie later this evening. The radio wasn't doing anything to lure her into sleep, and so I slipped in a Christmas cd my sister made for us last year. We were enjoying "Little Drummer Boy" by Ashlee and Jessica Simpson when I started wondering why it has taken me so long to get the music out. I started browsing through the songs, trying to remember what else was on the cd, when I heard the familiar opening of a song that instantly transported me to another time.

Four years ago this month, I was nearly five months pregnant with our second baby when my water broke. I think I knew instantly what had happened, even though I hadn't experienced it with Damon. After consulting with a nurse, we decided to drive to the hospital to find out for sure what was happening. The hospital was 30 minutes away and we listened to a Martina McBride Christmas cd on the way there.

Once we checked in, my fear was confirmed that, in fact, my water had broken, and, while still alive, at 20 weeks, there was no way our baby was going to survive outside the womb. The next week was incredibly emotional, as I tried to connect to this unborn child, saying good-bye. On December 11th, I went into labor and our son, Chance, was born, stillborn. This was a life-changing experience for all of us , but it wasn't until we were driving home from the hospital that I gained an incredible amount of perspective. The same Martina McBride cd was in the car, and we listened again to the song "Do You Hear What I Hear." At the end of the song are the words:

"A child, a child, sleeping in the night

He will bring us goodness and light

he will bring us goodness and light."

It was a powerful moment, contrasting the sadness I felt about losing my little boy with the great joy I felt celebrating the birth of another boy, our Savior. Christmas was extra special that year, as I felt closer to Christ than I ever had before, knowing that because of Him, I would get to see my son again, and have him a part of our family forever.

Four years have passed, two other children have come to our family, and I find that I am rarely sad when I think about Chance, "our angel" as we like to call him. The gospel has stitched up the wounded place in my heart, and life has once again been filled with happiness.

So today, as "Do You Hear What I Hear?" started filling the van, I was unprepared for the surge of emotion that came over me. My heart overflowing, my eyes brimmed with tears, the memories suddenly so fresh and vivid in my mind. Kyla started crying in her seat behind me, and I reached my hand back. Her fingers closed over mine, squeezing my heart a little more, and I enjoyed her tender touch for a long moment.

The song ended. The moment passed. Damon got in and shut the door. We played "Little Drummer Boy" for him on the drive back home, as Allie fell asleep. "This is so better than the bus," he said.

Welcome, Christmas spirit. I couldn't agree more.