I have a huge confession to make: I have never been the biggest fan of the Holidays. Maybe it’s the social obligation of one single day of the year, maybe it’s my not-so-great childhood memories. The truth is, after October, I used to start dreading what was coming… the Holiday season.

I tend to enjoy the rest of the year more. I am not one of those people that listens to Christmas music starting in July (cough cough, David)… I enjoy the spring and summer months, as they are a little more “relaxed”.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, and we had great Christmases and New Year celebrations, growing up with my mom and my brother. Now, since getting married, I’ve taken part in some awesome Roberts Family Holiday traditions (Elf, anyone?). I was looking forward to my baby baking cookies with my mom and eating her tamales, and singing Christmas carols and opening (way too many!) gifts at abuela and grandpa Roberts’ house.

My due date with Noah was January 24th, 2018. So this holiday season was supposed to mean huge belly, no food restrictions, and looking forward to meeting our baby less than a month later. I was hoping I would not “dread” the season as I did in previous years, maybe I was finally going to enjoy the social obligations… I used to feel this way about Christmas because I was slowly forgetting the reason for the season…

When Noah died, I immediately thought “It’s going to be the suckiest Christmas ever” ,“The saddest holiday season ever”… Until I was reminded of the true reason why we celebrate Christmas…

Christmas Became Real

You see, I always knew we celebrate Jesus’ birth (regardless whether he was born in December or not) in December (If you are hispanic, you know it’s the 24th and if you are American, it’s the 25th and if you are like me, then you have two days of Christmas Celebrations). My mom always made sure I understood that we got gifts from “El niño Dios” (there was no Santa in Colombia, people!) because it was really Jesus’ birthday and He wanted to share His gifts with us (you gotta love parents’ made-up Christmas presents stories).

Losing my baby meant coming to terms with the reality of death. Saying goodbye to my baby’s dead body in a cold hospital room meant I had to truly question where my faith was based. In the single darkest moment of my life God whispered “Noah is with me, he is not cold, he is not hungry, he is safe in my arms, you will see him again”… I praised God for the gift of salvation, and my faith was never more solidified. I realized the meaning of true Hope… A hope that could not be touched by the single hardest, most painful experience of my 28 years of life.

Christmas became real. It is because God sent His only Son to this earth to die for the forgiveness of our sins, that I can have the hope of seeing my baby boy one day. Maybe my reason is selfish–and I can’t help it since I am a sinful human–but it doesn’t change the reality of this salvation in my life…

So this Christmas I might not have a huge belly, or wear the beautiful red maternity dress my mom bought me earlier this year, (I am, in fact, going to eat without restrictions, though), but I can truly rejoice on this day. The celebration of Jesus’ birth, my redeemer, our Savior.

This has been the best Christmas ever, because my eyes are fixed on the true meaning of Christmas. That baby boy born in a manger from a virgin mom, who is King of the world… Who loved me so much, He died for me and my baby boy, so we can never be truly separated from God and each other…

He also came into this world for YOU… whoever you are…

Merry Christmas!!