Is it really such a wonderful life, George?

I don’t remember when the tradition started, but our family watches “It’s a Wonder Life” every Christmas Eve. “What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down!”

We know ALL the lines and would drive you nuts were you to watch the movie with us.

But much to my chagrin, George Bailey could not cheer me up this year. I even shed tears (tears of jealousy perhaps?) that George could be so happy amidst his turmoil. I ooohed and ahhhed at all the right places, but what I really wanted to do was throw my cold pizza at the TV and give George and Mary the big middle finger. All I kept thinking is, Is it really such a wonderful life, George? Even now, four days into 2021, I’m not feeling it.

Because of my stupid lung disease, 2020 and its lousy leech the COVID virus reeked some serious havoc on our family. We are all angry, hurt and still flailing around trying to find some footing in this madness. Okay – I’m sorry, family – it’s mostly me who is mad, hurt, and flailing around. I’m mad that my shitty lung disease makes me extremely vulnerable should I get COVID. Which in turn makes me mad because I fight so hard against LAM and take all these stupid drugs and suffer their stupid side-effects and yet some “Karen” who got a D+ in high school science still insists scientists the world over don’t know what they’re talking about so she will not wear a mask to the grocery store and is probably going to give me COVID which I’ll die from. I’m mad that a silly little virus will probably take me out instead of this respectable lung-sucking, incurable disease I’ve valiantly fought for years. I’m mad my college-aged kids have had to forego plans and dreams and move home instead and now I have to listen to Band Camino and Billie Eilish and watch TikToks and eat kale. I’m mad at them for having friends – friends they actually want to SEE – which exposes me even more to COVID dangers (They are 19 and 22 for Pete’s sake – who doesn’t want to hang with their friends at that age? What kind of witch am I???) I’m mad at my husband for working so much and seeing so many clients which also increases our COVID exposure (Even as SO many have lost work and cannot pay their bills! I’m the lowest of sinners.) I’m mad that no matter how many times we calmly discuss what is “safe” behavior and what’s “foolish” and what’s a “risk worth taking” and what’s “asking for it”, the four of us still fight about COVID and never quite land on the same page. I’m mad at friends who see it all differently than me and gather all willy-nilly with their families and friends and post the most gorgeous pictures with everyone’s hair and makeup done up just so. (I don’t even know what makeup is anymore and I think I ran out of real shampoo sometime in July). I’m mad that COVID forced me to quit a job I loved and left me bored as a fly on horse shit (I would imagine that would be a very boring way to spend a day, anyway). I’m mad that my poor daughters have such an angry mother and I worry that if I die, their last memory of me will be me sobbing on the sofa with matted, greasy hair wearing the same sweatshirt and sweatpants for the 11^th day in a row and watching reruns of Fixer-Upper.

This whole sucky-year and the pain and division and loss left in its wake is just NOT the way things are supposed to be. And I’m mad and losing it.

I have now slept 5 days straight – as in ALL day, AND ALL night. I don’t know if it’s a bad LAM week, or COVID, or depression. Knowing my luck, I probably have the effing trifecta.

I know this is shocking. I’m usually happy-go-lucky, full of optimism, hope and cheer. You’re supposed to read these blogs and feel all rainbows-and-unicorns-sprinkled-with-Jesus euphoria. Somehow, my excessively toothy grin and obsession with things like shiny bracelets and exclamation points make people expect joy and optimism from me.

I’m sorry, not today, bub.

I am lonely and in need of commiseration. So I sat down and read the whole book of Lamentations tonight. Then I read Job. Jeremiah, Job and I wallowed in self-pity together.

And then it hit me – there is a REASON those books of the Bible exist! God could have kept them out of our canonized scriptures, but he didn’t. He knew that there WILL BE seasons of lament! Sometimes that is all we can muster and sometimes, like these current times, it’s just enough.

To be honest, I’ve not been very happy with God this past year, have you? I mean, if God is supposed to ONLY bring us peace, calm, reassurance, happiness and gratitude – well, then, he failed miserably this year. And if I believe I am entitled to THOSE emotions because I follow God, after a year like 2020, it’s only natural I’d be left with anger at God because it feels like he abandoned me.

But reading those laments in scripture felt like God saying to me: “Oh no, Cindy. You’ve got that all wrong. There is definitely a time to mourn and be sad and even mad at me. It’s okay. I can handle it. Just like Jeremiah cried out for his people, and as Job cried out for his health and family, you, too, may certainly lament all this loss and hardship.”

I suddenly realized I am, indeed, George Bailey – but I’m still in the MIDDLE of the movie! My ice-cold hands are clutching the railing of a high bridge over troubled waters and I’m in the MIDST of crying out to God!!!

My angel Clarence simply hasn’t showed up yet.

And then I knew that this is the place I must wait. Instead of deliverance, I must pray for patience. I don’t know how long God will make me wait on this cold bridge, but I know Clarence will show up. For now, I wait and lament.

This is what Lamentations is all about. The cry in the wait. The cry without answers. The cry alone in the dark.

I am not feeling ridiculous optimism and joyful anticipation of 2021. I know that’s what I’m supposed to say to you as I wrap up this blog. But I’d be lying. I just know we are definitely allowed to lament – even encouraged to do so. And because I’m old and have been down so many, many hard paths before, I also know lament doesn’t last forever.

I know this, because I know how the movie ends. In fact, I know it by heart. I know that Zuzu is sitting on George’s shoulder and she hears a bell ring on the Christmas tree and says, “Look daddy! Teacher says every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.”

And then George winks and the credits roll while everyone sings Auld Lang Syne.

It’s okay to lament now, because we know how the movie ends.

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