Holiday Blues & a True Christmas Miracle

(P.S. For my Brazilian readers, the expression “feeling blue” in English means feeling down or sad, while in Portuguese it is the very opposite.) This is a longer essay, but I hope you will take the time to read it because it describes a Christmas miracle, I have been waiting for 27 years.

Since 1996, Christmas has been a season marked by deep sadness, anxiety, and overwhelming sorrow—feelings that intensified after Danny’s passing. Every year, I dreaded the red and green lights, the cheerful decorations, and the joyful holiday traditions that only seemed to deepen my pain. My focus remained on simply surviving the season. But this year, something changed. I approached God with a vulnerable heart and an earnest longing for renewal. I prayed fervently for transformation—for a shift in my perspective on the holidays and the burden of depression. In the stillness of prayer, I poured out my soul, seeking healing that could only come from God’s divine touch.

As Christmas draws near, many people wrestle with a bittersweet mix of joy and sorrow, often weighed down by the loss of loved ones or unmet expectations. This has been my reality since 1996, a struggle amplified by Danny’s passing. Each year, I found myself trapped in the same cycle of dread and grief—a toxic holiday tradition I never wanted but unknowingly accepted. But this year was different. I reached a breaking point, tired of carrying the heavy load of sorrow that had haunted me for decades. What I am sharing today is not a continuation of that pain, but instead, a celebration of an incredible and unexpected Christmas miracle!

Christmas 2024 brought with it a gift I never anticipated—a true miracle! The weight of emotional, physical, and spiritual exhaustion that I had carried for so long was lifted. For years, I had prayed for this moment, and this year, God answered. Instead of allowing sadness to overshadow the beauty of the season, I made the choice to surrender my grief, trauma, and depression completely to God. In return, I experienced a transformation I never thought possible. The emptiness in my soul was replaced with hope and true peace. God gently reminded me that even in my darkest moments, His light shines through cherished memories and His eternal presence. My heart, soul, and body were embraced by the all-encompassing love of God—the most powerful and life-changing love one could ever know.

This year, I didn’t just know about God’s love; I truly experienced it. The love of Jesus, who gave His life so I could live, became tangible and undeniable. God’s love is perfect, unfailing, and a reflection of His very nature. What a gift we have been given! Hallelujah!

Thank you so much for your prayers, asking God to replace my sadness with the joy of Christ. I am overjoyed to share that, after years of experiencing the Holiday Blues, I now find myself praising the Lord—and even singing Christmas songs. 😊 Let me provide a quick background to explain my former Grinch-like attitude. On December 17, 1996, at the age of 17, my childhood came to an abrupt end. I lost my father, who had been my sole source of love, protection, and security. That day, my role as a daughter and sister changed forever. I was forced into an unspoken position of leading the household, essentially taking on the role of mothering my own mother. Both my mother and I struggled through this toxic and overwhelming situation. I had to organize my father’s funeral, speak with the police, and even claim his body from the morgue because my mother was unable to handle these responsibilities herself.

That December day in Curitiba mirrored a paradox within my heart. The weather was warm, like a hot summer afternoon, but the city was adorned with Christmas decorations, creating a tropical winter wonderland. The contrast between the summery climate and the festive holiday imagery reflected my inner turmoil at the time. Celebrating Christmas in Brazil often feels like celebrating in a tropical winter wonderland, with decorations attempting to mimic the cold, snowy holiday atmosphere of the U.S. Yet, as the world around me celebrated, my heart was consumed by grief, unable to align with the joy of the season.

Now, let me share why my Grinch-like attitude toward the holidays lasted so many years. Just a few days before my father passed in 1996, he asked me where my mother was. At the time, my mother was involved in a relationship with another man—a fact known to everyone but my father. She had taken my sister to visit this man. I faced an impossible choice: I didn’t want to lie to my father, yet I couldn’t bring myself to reveal my mother’s affair. Struggling, I avoided the conversation and left him alone in the living room. As I walked away, he said words that would haunt me for years: “One day, you’ll want to speak with me, but I won’t be here, and you’ll regret not talking to me now.” Little did we know that day was only a week away—he passed on December 17, 1996.

At that time, our entire world fell apart, financially and emotionally. We went from a life of affluence—owning a home, an upscale apartment by one of Brazil’s most prestigious beaches, a large cattle farm, several cars, and even my personal collection of horses—to complete poverty. We were forced to sell nearly all our possessions, down to the smallest pieces of furniture. Our new home was a small, cabin-like structure with no working bathroom or kitchen. The ceiling didn’t fully connect to the walls, allowing leaves and rain to fall inside whenever the wind shifted. To make matters worse, a fox lived on the roof directly above my bed, and its urine would seep through, dripping onto my bed as I slept. There was no space to move the bed to another location. These were the most challenging times of our lives, but the emotional toll was even worse. I carried the deep guilt of believing I had disappointed my father and made him feel rejected. For years, I punished myself by reliving those memories—along with others even more painful, which I won’t share here. Thankfully, I no longer bear those feelings of guilt, but the journey to healing was long and difficult.

Here’s a brief account of my father’s death. While working on the foundation of a house we desperately hoped would take us away from the cabin, my father collapsed after suffering a stroke. My maternal grandparents found him lying on the ground, but instead of helping him, they continued on to my grandmother’s doctor’s appointment. Later, my grandfather apologized for their inaction, and although I loved my grandparents dearly and hold no resentment, I do believe that, had this happened in the United States, they would have faced serious legal consequences. Feeling unwell, my father had left his car running with the driver’s door open and walked away. My grandparents called a neighbor and asked her to contact my mother, who was on the far side of our sprawling city. These events compounded the heartbreak of that tragic day.

A neighbor told my mother to rush home and help my father. Without hesitation, my mother hailed a cab and traveled across the sprawling city of Curitiba—a city that, much like New York, is vast and difficult to cross when urgency strikes. When she arrived home, with the help of the kind taxi driver, they carefully placed my father in the backseat. My mother cradled his head in her arms. At that moment, he was still breathing. But tragically, he passed away in her embrace, right there in the cab. I am forever grateful to that compassionate taxi driver. His patience and kindness shone as he drove my mother to multiple locations, including the morgue. He refused to accept payment for his service, an act of generosity I can only imagine was not easy, given the emotional weight of that day. His humanity left a lasting impression. These moments are part of the reason the holiday season has taken on a bittersweet tone for me. Since that day, the holidays have felt different—less festive, more reflective. This essay recounts not just that event, but serves as a reflection on my life as a whole: a journey marked by complexity, struggle, and the daily opportunity to rewrite my narrative. It is a testament to finding strength, learning to make decisions with intention, and discovering how to play the cards life has dealt me.

Personally, I have chosen God as the foundation of my life: He is my hope in despair, my light in darkness, and my strength to walk a path of resilience. Throughout my life, I have chosen to anchor myself in God—He is the beginning, the middle, and the end of my life’s journey. One day, I will walk through the gates of heaven, and what a beautiful gift it will be to see Him face-to-face. Following Jesus brings meaning to every step, whether it’s through valleys of suffering, mountains of unrealized dreams, or oceans of despair. God has guided me through life’s highways and unexpected backroads, always pulling me back from the brink when I felt hopeless. He filled my soul with joy when my world felt empty and sorrowful. My Creator has connected every milestone of my life—from my first breath to each step along the way, and eventually, to my final act on this stage of life. Living with purpose, I look forward to meeting my Creator—not with despair, but with the joyful anticipation of an eternal relationship.

The painful experiences of my life have become markers of my growth and resilience. They have shaped my relationship with both God and suffering, highlighting His unwavering ability to rescue and restore me. Every moment of pain tells a story of perseverance and divine healing. God has mended my heart from the trauma that once overshadowed my holiday seasons. As I wrote this essay, I reflected on my 17-year-old self, revisiting the memories that once brought me to tears. But today, for the first time in 27 years, I did not relive the pain. Instead, I saw a smile—a genuine, peaceful smile—emerging from the depths of my soul. Alleluia! I even found joy in singing holiday songs and decorating my home for Christmas for the first time in decades. What a transformation!

Today, I choose to celebrate life. This Christmas, I will honor Christ’s birth and the loved ones I’ve lost by sharing stories, laughter, and warmth with family and friends. If my heart wavers, I will remind myself that God has been my Father long before I became fatherless. He has been my provider, my protector, and my defender. The events described in this essay no longer serve as reminders of pain, but as affirmations of God’s faithfulness and His power to rescue. Pain and suffering are not measures of diminished faith—they are sources of strength and empowerment. I choose to give my pain a purpose. I want it to extend beyond personal grief and become a beacon of hope for others. My desire is to live a life where my stories serve as modern-day parables, used by God to inspire, teach, and save lives. I hope my journey can bring light to those in darkness and prevent others from losing hope—even in their darkest moments.

Luciane Hawkins