Empty Stockings and an Empty Tomb

Everyone told us the first big holiday without your loved one is the hardest. They weren’t wrong, but today brought something for which I was not prepared; empty stockings.

I looked around the living room to see stockings set out across the room, stuffed with bags of candy and useful knick-knacks. Hanging on the mantle, all alone, was Eli’s; flat and empty. I suppose my mind knew this was how it would be, but my brain forgot to tell my heart.

I moved past it and thoroughly enjoyed the morning. As we embarked on the next family gathering … it happened again. There, on the stocking tree, hung Eli’s stocking. Empty. The emotions of our present reality seemed to hang in my throat.

I’m learning to either dodge or prepare for the obvious triggers, but this one hit me out of nowhere. I hadn’t even considered it.

I’ve often wondered how people who have suffered loss cope in situations like this. I still don’t know exactly, but I’m learning. One thing came to mind today that brought me comfort as I looked at his empty stockings; an empty tomb.

Today, Eli’s empty stockings brought grief to my doorstep, but every day Jesus’ empty tomb brings overwhelming joy; joy with the amazing power to drive out even the darkest nights of the soul.

When I was a little boy we sang a song declaring “Every promise in the book is mine.” While I don’t know about every promise, the one I care most about these days is the promise of the resurrection; a promise of not only reconnection but of victory.

Today, the sting of death seems as sharp as ever, but I long for the day when that sting is forever vanquished by the mercy and grace of Jesus.

Today, your stockings may be empty, but your joy can still be full.

Maranatha