The Empty Cradle
I love sitting in front of my Christmas tree and looking at the ornaments and lights, thinking about where the different ornaments came from. It's quite an eclectic assortment; there is no theme. Some were gifts, some handmade, some are mementos from trips. There are ornaments for all the children that have accumulated over the years. Among them are a few in memory of our first baby, Andrew.
Many years ago, when we were first married, I discovered I was pregnant with our first baby. It was our second Christmas together- what a great present! Christmas and New Year passed blissfully into spring, when Andrew died, and I gave birth to our first child, a son; here in this world, but already in the next. It was agonizing; I was angry at everyone and God, and it was tough time for me.
The next Christmas found us with no children still, although I was expecting another baby at the time. As we prepared to decorate our tree, we decided to find a few ornaments for Andrew. Some people thought that was a bit strange, but it was important for me to acknowledge his life. A dear friend gave us a handmade heart with the word "HOPE" stitched on it. Another friend made some booties. We bought a silver cradle and had his name engraved on it. While looking around Home Depot, we found another ornament at the bottom of a display rack, forgotten, packaging crushed and broken. The words "Merry Christmas, Son" were printed on it, and it seemed fitting.
Many Christmases have passed and many children have been given to us, but I think of Andrew from time to time, and especially at Christmas, as I unpack his ornaments. My children all know about him and treat his ornaments with special care, and talk about their brother in Heaven. His body had given out a week or so before he was born. Much like the ornament from Home Depot, he came to us in a tattered package; one too damaged to be used. And really, all of us are tattered and torn from birth, maybe not physically, but spiritually; our sin renders us imperfect, barely useful. Sure, we come into this world all cute and cuddly, but we are born with that mark of sin on us that we just can't wipe away or fix.
And then there is the empty cradle. Its emptiness spoke to me at the time: childless, empty, hurting. Our crib would have to wait a while before there would be a baby in it. And at the time it seemed the end of the story for me: an empty cradle. But time went on and the crib has had 7 babies in it! Now, when I look at Andrew's cradle, I think of the manger that held Jesus when he was a baby, and for many people that is the end of the Christmas story: a cute tale about a baby wrapped in cloths, and some presents under a tree, and peace on earth. But the Christmas story doesn't end there. Just as my story did not end with an empty cradle, the Christmas story does not end with a baby in a manger; it ends on an empty Cross. In all the rush to prepare for Christmas, it is so easy to forget about the Cross. Yet, the two events are inseparable; the manger scene is meaningless, even hopeless, without it. The manger scene points us to the Cross.
How could God love me in such a way as to send his only son to die for me, to erase the mark of my sin? I'm just a tattered package, damaged and imperfect. I cannot imagine loving anyone, good or bad, enough to sacrifice my son; but then, I am not God. I cannot fathom this kind of love; I cannot comprehend it. I am undeserving of it, yet God has bestowed His love on us in this way, for His purpose. I sit in front of my Christmas tree and look at all the ornaments; the house is quiet, and I ponder all these things. I think about the painful loss of a son and an empty cradle, about our brokenness, about the manger that held a King, the sacrifice of an only Son, and an empty Cross.
Many years ago, when we were first married, I discovered I was pregnant with our first baby. It was our second Christmas together- what a great present! Christmas and New Year passed blissfully into spring, when Andrew died, and I gave birth to our first child, a son; here in this world, but already in the next. It was agonizing; I was angry at everyone and God, and it was tough time for me.
The next Christmas found us with no children still, although I was expecting another baby at the time. As we prepared to decorate our tree, we decided to find a few ornaments for Andrew. Some people thought that was a bit strange, but it was important for me to acknowledge his life. A dear friend gave us a handmade heart with the word "HOPE" stitched on it. Another friend made some booties. We bought a silver cradle and had his name engraved on it. While looking around Home Depot, we found another ornament at the bottom of a display rack, forgotten, packaging crushed and broken. The words "Merry Christmas, Son" were printed on it, and it seemed fitting.
Many Christmases have passed and many children have been given to us, but I think of Andrew from time to time, and especially at Christmas, as I unpack his ornaments. My children all know about him and treat his ornaments with special care, and talk about their brother in Heaven. His body had given out a week or so before he was born. Much like the ornament from Home Depot, he came to us in a tattered package; one too damaged to be used. And really, all of us are tattered and torn from birth, maybe not physically, but spiritually; our sin renders us imperfect, barely useful. Sure, we come into this world all cute and cuddly, but we are born with that mark of sin on us that we just can't wipe away or fix.
And then there is the empty cradle. Its emptiness spoke to me at the time: childless, empty, hurting. Our crib would have to wait a while before there would be a baby in it. And at the time it seemed the end of the story for me: an empty cradle. But time went on and the crib has had 7 babies in it! Now, when I look at Andrew's cradle, I think of the manger that held Jesus when he was a baby, and for many people that is the end of the Christmas story: a cute tale about a baby wrapped in cloths, and some presents under a tree, and peace on earth. But the Christmas story doesn't end there. Just as my story did not end with an empty cradle, the Christmas story does not end with a baby in a manger; it ends on an empty Cross. In all the rush to prepare for Christmas, it is so easy to forget about the Cross. Yet, the two events are inseparable; the manger scene is meaningless, even hopeless, without it. The manger scene points us to the Cross.
How could God love me in such a way as to send his only son to die for me, to erase the mark of my sin? I'm just a tattered package, damaged and imperfect. I cannot imagine loving anyone, good or bad, enough to sacrifice my son; but then, I am not God. I cannot fathom this kind of love; I cannot comprehend it. I am undeserving of it, yet God has bestowed His love on us in this way, for His purpose. I sit in front of my Christmas tree and look at all the ornaments; the house is quiet, and I ponder all these things. I think about the painful loss of a son and an empty cradle, about our brokenness, about the manger that held a King, the sacrifice of an only Son, and an empty Cross.
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