He Made Me Blind That I Might See

Me:
I've been feeling like Mr. Scrooge this year!  I couldn't seem to slip out of feeling so sorry for myself and pull out of so many sad, poor-me memories that holidays trigger.  I didn't want anyone to tell me how happy and excited they were to go home because I was jealous of their family traditions and plans and blah blah blah.  Then I felt so ashamed of my attitude, because I knew I was being totally "Scroogy!"  But it just kept getting worse, and I have been isolating, numbing, and triggering.  Then... I watched a little Christmas movie Sunday that touched me deeply.


"Nora's Christmas Gift:"
Nora lived in a small community, who decided the way she could feel "belonging" was to do and do and do and serve and serve and serve and sacrifice and you get the idea.  She never let others help her, never asked for anything, never needed anything, but kept insisting that she do all these things for all the neighbors.

And then... she developed "mascular degeneration" in her eyes.  She went blind.

Her ability was taken away.  She couldn't see.  She couldn't give.  She couldn't serve.  She couldn't find her way around town, or even her own living room.  She made messes.  She felt she'd become a nuisance.  She was stubborn though, she wouldn't give in!  She worked hard with one other blind woman to learn how to manage on her own again, trying to gain her independence and value back, and she told the town to come over for her famous peanut brittle for Christmas. Alone in her kitchen, making a mess, she baked a terribly over salted batch of peanut brittle.  Once she tasted it, she decided once again, since she couldn't perfectly "do" for her friends, she couldn't belong.  Her friends came over and she refused their affection and efforts to help, because in her mind she lost her worth, value, and ability to be loved and belong.  In her mind, she was broken and deeply ashamed of it.  She sat in a corner hiding her face, telling them to go away.

Finally they told her the truth:  We never liked your peanut brittle.  We didn't really love the mittens you crocheted every year.  The yearly Christmas play you put on was such a hassle and was getting old.  Etc etc... "But the thing is, we like YOU."  All agreed.  They loved and adored her just for being her.

She spent her life exhaustingly "earning love" when people never really loved her because of what she could do.  They simply loved her for her.

Service is wonderful, but not if we're doing it for the wrong reasons.  Not if we're using it to fill our own well, rejecting the Savior's attempts to love us as we do.

That night when they left, she asked her best friend to read the Christmas story from the bible, but her friend opened instead to this verse:

John 9:39

39 ¶And Jesus said, For judgment I am come into this world, that they which see not might see; and that they which see might be made blind.

Nora was confused.  Why would Jesus make others miserably blind as she was?

"Joy to the world," her friend began to sing, "the Lord is come.  Let earth..." she paused.  

Nora picked up, "... Receive her King."  

"So when are you gonna?" her friend asked.

"Gonna what?"

"Receive?"

At the end Nora announced to the town that she could see!  She'd been healed.  But that the Lord had to take away her eyes in order for her to see.  She said she'd spent her life giving giving giving, but that now she knows, "Christmas isn't about giving.  It's about all the things we can't possibly give."  The Savior gave His life, and can give us more than we will ever be able to make up for no matter how stubbornly hard we try.  She finally found her worth was in the Savior, just as she is, not in what she could give or her ability to do things right.  

Me:

So.  I use to be Nora before she was blind.  Then I got anxiety and depression so bad (thanks to Heavenly Father who was ready to teach me a lesson) and I hid from the world because I felt broken, I took my pain to sinful soothing mechanisms because I didn't believe I deserved what the Savior could give, and slid deeper and deeper into darkness.  I made messes.  I couldn't see--I lived in anxiety delusions.  I couldn't serve--I even felt shame in giving, because what did I have to give?  And I refused others' help, far too ashamed to receive.  I got worse and worse.  Finally, I found out that the Savior loves me anyway, and so can people in my life, and so can I.  I can ask for help, and I can be loved, just as I am.  And.  I can serve because I love people, not because my value depends on it.

Because Christmas isn't about giving.  It's about all the things we can't possibly give.

I can drop expectations of what Christmas is "suppose" to be and "should" be, and just let myself believe I'm good enough to have joy in celebrating the life of my Savior no matter what my holiday looks like, and even despite my dysfunctional state.  I AM good enough to focus on the reason for the season.

Let Earth Receive Her King!