The other day, while waiting in line for my cup of coffee, I met a mechanic with an interest in restoring cars. I had a list of places to go and gifts to buy, but since my first stop already started with a line, I knew patience was going to be required of me that day.

I listened politely to him as he talked about this 1967 “something-something” that he had been working on for weeks and that by the time the restoration was complete, it was going to be better than new. That statement sparked my interest, and I asked him how could it possibly be better than new? I mean, when you buy something and it’s never been used or even unwrapped, that implies that it’s in the best condition ever. He continued on to say that the parts he was putting on it were better than the parts that were manufactured in 1967. He grew excited talking about the bolts he was installing that now had no-rust technology that wasn’t even created when the car was designed or built over 40 years ago.

It got me thinking about the true meaning of Christmas. Not because of anything related to the car or even the excitement in his story. Not because I was standing in my first line of many that day, or because it was December 1^st and I could hear Christmas music being piped through the speakers; but because just that morning I had been re-living some Christmas memories from the past 11 years, and God had been speaking to me about looking at them through a different lens.

These memories didn’t quite fit in with the song that starts, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year  … ”

I remembered the Christmas in 1998 when I was running on a cold morning in California to try to get away from the reality that had become my life. I was in the process of getting divorced after a seven-year failed marriage that had left me uncertain, insecure, and the main topic of family conversations. I was spending it with my parents, and my brother, his wife and their beautiful new baby and I was suddenly struck with loneliness and physical sickness. There are pictures of me on the couch drinking tea and trying to smile, but the truth was I couldn’t wait for Christmas to be over so that I could escape back into my life and run away from the most wonderful time of the year. A year later, I would find myself born-again, married to the most amazing and loving husband, promoted to the position of director in my field, and suddenly pregnant with my first child.

The Christmas of 2004 was another whopper. I was battling to win against the post-partum depression that was trying to overtake me after my third child in less than five years, while at the same time hosting my parents and my brother, his wife and their still only beautiful son. The tension and uneasiness we experienced throughout that week was so overwhelming that I would go to bed every night and burst into tears trying to put all of the pieces together. Within four months of that Christmas, my parents divorced after 37 years of marriage and deception, and my brother and his wife were divorced shortly thereafter. We still call it the worst Christmas ever, but two years later my brother and his ex-wife re-married in a quiet ceremony at a courthouse in California on the week before Thanksgiving. My parents never did reconcile, and that was one of the last times I ever spoke to my father, but my mother’s life has slowly been pieced back together in a way that only a Master could design, and my heart has finally found a peace about my past and my father that only Jesus could bring.

The Christmas of 2005 was one of the loneliest we had spent in the three years since we had moved to Texas. We were still reeling from 2004, and to add insult to injury, we left the only church we had known since we arrived in Texas by the direction of the Holy Spirit, only to be maligned and called horrible things by the very people we had served so faithfully. My husband had just changed jobs and we began attending a new church. Friends and stability were both in very short supply. But God’s hand and His mighty power were at work establishing His sovereignty in our lives. Two years later, some of the same people that had spoken so harshly against us from our previous church called to meet with us and apologize for the unfair treatment we had received at their very hands. Precious friendships were once again realized and forgiveness so freely given and received. My husband’s job proved to be an amazing and prosperous adventure, and that new church has been our home ever since.

As I sat with my coffee thinking about the list of painful and sad memories of Christmas, of the mechanic and the “something-something” he was restoring and the true meaning of Christmas, it all just came together like it always does in my little mind. Yes, Christmas is the time when Jesus was born in a manger and announced by angels to be the Savior of the world, but He had another purpose that had gotten lost in the celebration of His birth for me. He was like the mechanic I met, the one with a love for restoration. He had come to save the world by making it better than it ever was before. With bolts and hearts that forgive and don’t rust like they used to before Him. With peace and understanding that I could never have lived on my own without Him.  He came to make me-and you–better than we were before Him, because there is power and love and joy and peace that we never had—say in 1967.

Not all of my pains of past Christmas memories have been restored with a happy ending. Even though my brother and his wife re-married, they never could have another child. My parents never did reconcile, and my children do not know, and may never know, their grandfather. Not all of the friendships we made were restored, and sometimes those painful words that were spoken about us try to creep into my thoughts. But one thing is certain: there was a baby, born in a manger, the Savior of the world, who promised He would never leave me or forsake me, and that He would keep me in perfect peace as long as my mind was stayed on Him.

That day in the coffee shop, the mechanic helped to define the lens that God was showing me to look through. I am so thankful for the line in the coffee shop, the happy mechanic who liked to talk, and a moment of time where I was able to put it all together.

Merry Christmas to you, and I pray that restoration comes to each of you in such a way that you can join in and sing, “it’s the most wonderful time of the year”, even if it takes eleven years for your voice to be heard in the chorus.

Marsia Van Wormer

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