Whether we approach the season with anticipation or apprehension, the experience of Christmas is about the eternal qualities of God. For those who live in darkness, Christmas may be an experience of light. For those who grieve, it may be an experience of comfort. For those who are lonely, it may be an experience of love. For those who feel empty, it may be an experience of joy.

For many, the holiday season is about superficial pleasure and merriment rather than the pursuit of deep spiritual joy. Those who are grieving the death of a loved one may feel tentative, conflicted, or even skeptical about entering into the festivities. We fear that if we participate, somehow our loved one will be lost or forgotten amid the stir of celebration.

Advent is a holy season of waiting. During these days we reflect, meditate, and prepare our hearts for the coming into the world of the promised Messiah.

Because of the rapid succession of holidays—Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s—often November and December feel like a time of prolonged remembrance. Grief intensifies our experience of seasonal events and occasions, whether at home, at school, at work, at church, or in the neighborhood. Wherever we go, whatever we do, there are painful reminders of our loved one.

 As we travel the journey of grief, we search for a new direction in life. With the death of one we love, the familiar roadmap of our life is turned upside down—in an instant north becomes south, east becomes west. We cannot get our bearings.

What, then, is hope? Hope is part of who we are. Every person is born with hope. We are hard-wired from birth to hope. We hope because we are divinely created human beings. God created us to hope—to be hopeful, hope-filled people.

Every puzzle begins with an image, a picture that, when the last piece is put into place, suggests completion if not perfection. Over the years we attempt to assemble the puzzle of our life. Time and again the restless pursuit of emotional and spiritual peace compels us to take down the puzzle, look at the picture, and try to make sense of the puzzle of our life.

We live our days in pursuit of a self-determined life. We see ourelf as independent, self-reliant, and capable—until we are not. At some time, whether by outward force or personal circumstance, we are reduced to a state of helplessness. Too often we turn to God only as a last resort.

As ordinary people, seldom do we sustain the euphoria of a mountaintop experience in our everyday life.

When we grieve the death of one we love, sooner or later we realize that if we are to survive and live forward, we must rebuild our life. Like any good estimator, we sit down and count the cost.

When one we love dies, it is not unusual to feel separated from God, at least for a while. Suddenly adrift in our life, we feel unmoored from all that is familiar. Often we are lukewarm about our faith, either unwilling or unable to pray and seek God, “I know your works; you are neither cold nor hot. I wish that you were either cold or hot” (Revelation 3:15).

In the build-up to a significant Remembrance Day last week, I felt the familiar rumbling of memories that evoke sadness and joy, longing and gratitude, and grief refreshed and renewed. How could it be otherwise when a great love is distant yet ever present and always near.