What a beautiful testament of our Savior and eternal families.
My feelings about Christmas pretty much parallel my feelings about life: I mostly love it but it stresses me out sometimes. This is especially true this year, as we’re dealing with a challenge we never imagined facing with our youngest grandchild, Malcolm. . . .
The third of three sweet grandbabies who joined our family in 2017, he was born with a rare genetic disorder that manifests itself in a mitochondrial deficiency. The mitochondria are like the batteries that power our cells, and when they don’t work properly, the cells can’t get enough energy. Malcolm can’t process his food well, so he has to be on a continuous, very slow feeding cycle through a tube that goes down through his nose into his stomach. Eventually (probably before his first birthday, but no one really knows) his organs will be unable to carry the increased load, and he’ll be leaving us.
You’d think this would make Christmas sad, but oddly, it doesn’t. It makes it deeper, richer. It adds layers of meaning to everything about the holiday. I put up nativities all over the house, and in every one, I spent a little more time holding the figure of baby Jesus and feeling so, so astounded and grateful and relieved that He came.