Home for the holidays

Eleven years ago, we flew home from China with our newly adopted son. By the time we landed in Chicago, after traveling for more than 24 hours straight, we were exhausted. It was only then that we discovered that the whole East Coast had been shut down thanks to a huge snowstorm.

I didn’t know how we were going to get home until John suggested that we rent a car and drive home. It seemed like a crazy thought, but there was no other way to get there. Christmas was just days away. Everyone was stranded. We would never get a flight home. We would have to drive.

Our 2-year-old had never ridden in a car seat. But we would make the trip as much fun as we could. John installed a rented car seat into a rented car, and we hit the road for the long drive home.

It took us a day and a half of driving, and it was long—and we were jet-lagged. But we were home—on American soil. We sang and played Peekaboo in the backseat. We let our little boy eat and drop as many Cheerios as he wanted. We stopped for his first American cheeseburger in South Bend, Ind., not far from Notre Dame. We let him run around at rest stops along the way. It ended up being far less stressful than flying.

Eleven years ago, on Dec. 21, we finally made it home. We stopped at my parents’ house to pick up our house key and say some quick hellos. Then we drove the last half-hour to our house.

Home.

Our toddler had stayed in four different hotels before we made it home. And I remember how it took some time for him to realize that this place we were staying wasn’t just another stop on the road.

It was weeks—and maybe even months—before one night we pulled into our neighborhood and he sang out, “Home!” And my eyes filled with tears.

This year, we will be home for the holidays in a way that we rarely are. We won’t be visiting or hosting extended family. We won’t have friends dropping by to visit. We will be home just as a family of four.

I’ve been feeling sad that we won’t get to spend time with family the way we normally would. But I’m trying to remember that changes in plans don’t always end in disappointment. Sometimes changes in plans lead to beautiful memories, memories you treasure long after the frustration and the confusion drops away.

When our Blessed Mother and St. Joseph started their trip to Bethlehem, they didn’t know how long it would be before they saw their families again. They had to flee into Egypt with their new little boy, not knowing how long they would have to be there. They had to put his safety ahead of everything else. They must have done so in faith and, I imagine, with joy.

This year, as we make decisions for the health and safety of our family—not so much our own family as our extended families—I am trying to remember that this is just another part of the journey. It’s not my favorite part right now. But I imagine one day we will look back on this time and realize just how special this Christmas was with just the four of us, spending time together at home.

However different your Christmas looks this year, may you encounter Jesus in moments of happiness and sadness, knowing that He comes to each of us wherever we are, and loves us just as we are.

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