(Not) Home for the Holidays

How the Incarnation Makes Room for Longing and Belonging

The following post is an excerpt from my newly-published Advent essay, out now via The Way Back to Ourselves.

I am deeply honored and humbled to be one of six writers (Kristine Amundrud,

Deborah Rutherford

,

Donna Bucher

,

Deidre Braley

, and

Heather Lobe Johnson

) featured in their latest series: A Light in the Darkness. Thank you

Kimberly Phinney

for including me and for all the wonderful work you do over at TWBTO.

This is a very personal essay, and something that I am walking through as I type. It’s my prayer that these words would encourage you today and remind you of important truths as we celebrate Christ’s Incarnation all month long.

You can begin reading below, where you’ll also find a link to the rest of the piece!

Happy Reading!

It’s December 1st. My husband, daughter, and I are making our way back to Ohio after a lovely Thanksgiving weekend spent with my in-laws. You’d expect me to be happy–and I am–yet I can’t help but notice the invasive darkness on the road before us. How it surrounds me, hangs low over me, and reminds me of realities I can’t shake. 

It’s December 1st, which means there are only twenty-four days left until Christmas. Twenty-four days until I am, once again, not home for the holidays. Not in the company of my parents, who decorated their entire house in anticipation of our–now canceled–arrival. Not in the company of my grandparents, who age with every passing year. Not in the company of my siblings, whose laughter and banter I dearly miss. All thanks to a lost wallet, and with it, a lost immigration travel ID. So much for a Christmas miracle, right? 

Being an immigrant is complicated. I can’t always go or be where I want to, and I live in a constant state of “in between.” I put down roots where I am, but I find myself longing for the place that once held me: my beautiful home of the Dominican Republic. During seasons of celebration it feels almost impossible to rejoice without being reminded of what I’m missing out on. I miss the beach—its swaying palm trees, its warm air, and the soothing sound waves make when they reach the shore. I miss our family Christmas traditions—the hustle and bustle that takes over my mom’s kitchen as she starts up her holiday baking business, the Secret Santa at my grandparents’ house, and our annual trip to Samaná Bay, where we like to ring in the New Year. I wonder: Did Jesus feel as torn as I do during his time on Earth, as he longed for the peace of his heavenly home? 

Keep reading the rest of the essay here. It would mean a lot to me if you offered your feedback on the post!

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