Tears of Gratitude

Last weekend, a tiny ornament made me cry.

While visiting my daughter and her family in NY, I helped decorate the Christmas tree. The kids bounced between the ornament boxes spread on the couch and the large blinking tree. “Help us, Mimi,” one of them urged as he skittered past.  I reached into a box of the more delicate ornaments and pulled out one that had been carefully wrapped in tissue paper.

When I unwrapped the treasure, the chatter and excitement of my grandchildren faded. My eyes welled and I was transported back to Christmas 2013 and the horror of discovering Joe’s affair. Not wanting to dwell on that chapter of our journey, I pushed my thoughts forward to the following Christmas. Did we even celebrate that year? Did any of the kids come home? I was so lost and broken. I feared I might have to leave our marriage if the lies continued.

Joe and I kept the burdens of his betrayal to ourselves for a long time. We feared that telling our kids would destroy our blended family, and we didn’t want to risk it. Finally, God nudged, telling us it was time. No more secrets. 

Sharing with our kids was difficult. There were tears and anger, but like us, they healed. And then Christmas 2016, they all came home. They still wanted to be a family -- all of them.

            To commemorate our joy over this miracle, Joe and I decided to purchase a matching ornament for each family. After much searching, we chose a small pewter Christmas tree, built top to bottom from the words joy, love, peace, family, Christmas.  

On Christmas morning, Joe and I lovingly placed a precious, ornament in the hands of each of our seven children. I looked around the room at our beautiful family and tears of joy ran down my cheeks. We made it!

It is now 2018, five years since that first, awful night of discovery. Last weekend I stood in my daughter’s living room, holding a tiny Christmas tree ornament, joy, love, peace, family, Christmas. I gently brought the token of healing and joy to my heart. Gratitude leaked from my eyes.  No more secrets between me and Joe and no more secrets with our kids. They know where we've been.

My daughter looked up from a conversation with her youngest. Noticing my tears and the ornament in my hand, she walked across the room. Leaning close, she put her arms around me and whispered, “It’s alright Mom. I understand.”