‘Somewhere in your Silent Night’

I have been waiting. Waiting for my story to come. I have found myself discouraged on more than one occasion and have even discussed with my husband that maybe it’s ok this year to just not send a letter with the Christmas card. “How many people actually read the letters that come with a Christmas card?” I said. “And those who do would understand because of the kind of year we have had!” He gently reminded me that the moment always comes. Every year! My story comes.

I think I was waiting for some grand event. Some rare and precious moment that changes me like in years past with mistletoe drawings and dancing in the kitchen. Meeting a stranger who becomes a new friend or a beautifully lit Christmas tree high on the mountain guiding us home. Those are my treasured stories from years past. But I think this year was meant to be different for me.

As I look back at the year we have just experienced, I see what could be my story. A story about change, about fear. A story filled with unknown, with limitations and rules. Chapters about mother earth shaking, sickness and viruses plaguing the lands. A chapter filled with the adventures of educating my children at home. Of canceled playdates and delayed family vacations. A chapter about the loneliness of quarantine and longing for time with family and friends. A chapter of heartache watching a child suffer through an intense surgery and illness, the word Cancer and a long unknown journey of healing still ahead. A story that has an unknown final chapter…. not yet written. Is that my story this year?

I have shed many tears over the last couple of months trying to spread myself thin enough to take care of everyone’s needs. I have cried bitter tears when I found myself in moments where I had fallen short, forgotten an important event, or was the only mom who didn’t make it to the field trip. Tears of frustration when there simply were not enough hours in the day. Tears of heartbreak when I could see the sadness or disappointment in my children’s faces when I hadn’t made it in time for the singing performance, when my little lady just wanted to feel and be treated like she was normal. When I had to say no to time with friends once again or when I was just too tired to read the bedtime story. Tears of fear for what lies ahead. What is the next thing that is going to take more than I have to give?

In the early hours of the morning just a few days ago, I sat alone on the couch in the dark, only the light of the Christmas tree filled the room. I couldn’t sleep. The to do list was so long. The house was a mess. Still processing the conversation with Savannah’s doctor’s from earlier in the day. Thinking about the class party for Canyon that I still needed to plan. Once again, I found myself in quiet tears, aching inside for a peace that would last.

Alone, I put my in my ear buds and turned on my christmas playlist

As I listened to those words, my soul took a breath. Somewhere in my silent night, the cries from my tired soul had been heard. I felt peace. I felt hope. I felt seen. I felt heard. I felt held. I felt loved. Somewhere in my silent night, my story began to unfold.

As I sat there after listening to this song, my mind starting racing with the images of my silent nights from this past year where God’s love had found me. My mind wandered to the silent night Brannick and I sat in an ER room with our sick little girl and the overwhelming peace we felt that everything was going to be ok as they prepared to admit her to the Oncology floor.

Somewhere in my silent night, God sent a little boy fighting cancer in the hospital alone, who had a conversation with me through our window’s late one night. He, on the Oncology floor, me on the surgical recovery floor with our little Savannah. His messages written on write paper in black marker told me that Jesus was there with us, we were not alone.

Somewhere in my silent night, God sent friends who baked and delivered homemade meals when our home was hit with Covid and when Brannick and I were spending nights at the hospital.

I thought about flowers, notes, stuffed animals, cards, pictures, text messages and videos that flooded our home as the faith and prayers of so many others carried and supported us through the unknown and decorated our little girls hospital room on her silent nights of recovery.

I could see the moment when I wheeled Savannah into her classroom for the first time after her surgery when all of her little friends cheered and circled around her. I could feel the innocent, priceless love of a child.

There was the silent night when the call came from the Oncologist with pathology results. Brannick and I smiling through tears of relief at the good news.

The smell of fresh bread made every Sunday for our home church.

The sound of laughter as we gathered around our kitchen table with all of our children for the first time after covid quarantine had kept us apart.

I felt him as we gathered around the Chapel pulpit as a family and sang of Following the Star looking out at the many faces who had prayed for us and sustained us. Surely, God was there.

God has been here in my silent nights. He has heard my cries. He has sent His peace. His touch through the hands of others. My silent nights have been filled with miracles. With the assurance that He has not left us on the nights where we have searched for hope. The nights that have been the darkest, the heaviest or loneliest.

Yes, my story could have been about the fear, the unknown, the constant change. The restrictions, rules and quarantine. But, as I sat in that room alone, in my silent night….. I felt a peace and a love that I know only comes from my Savior. He was with me. He has been through the entire journey of this year. He knew the path that would be laid before me last 12 months and He has traveled it with me.

Tonight, as I look at the star atop my humble Christmas tree, I know that He is my light. My star may not be high in the heavens guiding my mortal travel, but I have seen His star… in my silent nights. My star has been illness, doubt, fear, uncertainty. My star has been earthquakes, pandemics, and quarantine because it is these very things that have brought me to my Savior this year.

Somewhere… for every single one of us…. in our own, different, painful and lonely silent nights, God is there. He comes in the way you most need Him. He shows Himself in the way your heart is prepared to see Him.

This Christmas, I am grateful for you. I am grateful for the hands, the hugs, the hearts, the smiles, the tears, the gifts, the letters, the bread, the meals, the laughter, the prayers and the Christ like love that healed our home and brought us peace in our silent night.

It is our prayer that as each of you continue down your own unique, challenging and sometimes lonely paths that you will find the star that still shines brightly in the ways that only you may see. May you feel the love of our Savior in your silent night and the strength, the courage and the determination to continue forward. Hear Him. Follow Him. He is there in your silent night.

Love will find you!

We love you!

Love, The Riggs Family