The holiday season; the season of Joy. In my experience the holiday season brings many happy moments: Watching holiday movies, making cookies to share, decorating the house with lights, spending time with family. Christmas carols hold a special place in my heart. Every Christmas Eve of my childhood was spent singing carols with my family while my church organist grandmother played the piano.

We are, by no means, one of those Von Trapp-caliber singing families. Still, we would laugh as we sang different parts for “The Twelve Days of Christmas” and poked fun at Grandma during our rendition of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.”

Even as I write these words and remember such joyful moments, I have tears in my eyes.

Remembering my grandma (who passed away seven years ago) always includes a rush of conflicting emotions. I’m thankful for the beautiful memories and so aware of the loss. Even as we continue the tradition today, it isn’t the same. We fill the empty space she occupied with our shared love of her, our shared appreciation of her presence.

We’re the people who knew her best, and we’re the ones who most deeply feel her absence.

Christmas joy is not an artificially manufactured moment of pure bliss. It’s a hope and thankfulness in the midst of longing and sadness.

As milspouses, we understand this. Many of us have spent a Christmas season far from family, separated from our partner, unable to maintain consistent traditions because of our itinerant lifestyles. We’ve lost family members and friends, and Christmas is never the same without them.

This is precisely the reason that most of my favorite Christmas songs are in a minor key.

The musical mechanism of writing in a minor key gives the song a somber tone. Some Christmas examples are “Mary Did You Know” and “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.” Both of these songs have a sense of gravity. There is rejoicing, but there’s also a recognition of the darkness present in our world.

It reflects the state of our world: the beautiful, joyful moments and the moments of deep sadness. 

Migrants awaiting asylum trials in Juarez, across from Fort Bliss (El Paso).

I’m not capable of ignoring all the things that make my heart ache in order to appear happy. This Christmas, my heart aches for my grandmother, for the children and families freezing across the border in tents, for my recently deported friend who’s afraid for his life, for the families who cannot be together this season, for the bitterness and hopelessness rampant in our nation.

During some moments, the weight of all that’s wrong and unjust pulls me into despair.

How is joy possible amid all of this?

Leaning into the Advent message of hope in the presence of despair has been my way forward this year. “O Come, O Come Emmanuel’ has resonated deeply with me. It’s somber and hopeful. It recognizes the darkness present now, but rejoices in the hope that it doesn’t have to remain this way.

“Dispel the shadows of the night and turn our darkness into light. Rejoice.”

This season I’ll carry the pain of loss and the pain of my neighbors who are suffering. In the coming year, I’ll continue to work to bring change so they can celebrate the next Christmas warm, at peace, surrounded by those they love.

I believe there can be healing and compassion.

I believe despair will not have the final word.

Darkness is present, but I will rejoice for the hope that light will endure and bring about joy and peace for all.