A Legacy Of Love

“O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” For sin is the sting that results in death, and the law gives sin its power. But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.

THE HOLIDAYS DIDN’T FEEL RIGHT the year my sister Katrina died. Her final day was at the tail end of October, and Halloween and Thanksgiving passed in an unmemorable blur.

By the time we rounded the corner into December, Kendra and I (Kristin) and the rest of our family knew we couldn’t bear to pretend that Christmas was the same. The traditions we’d loved for so long didn’t fit in quite the same way, like the sister-shaped piece was missing from the puzzle box, rendering the family incomplete.

So we decided to do something new. We packed our cars and headed an hour north to a big, cozy cabin on a frozen lake. We ate bacon and cinnamon rolls for brunch at the resort lodge, swam and threw ourselves down waterslides with my young niece and nephew in the indoor pool, and gazed at the vast expanse of crystalline white snow outside the frosted windows. We threw dice and shuffled cards for board games, opened thoughtfully chosen Christmas gifts, and sat by the fireplace reading books. By the time we left, the sting of grief felt a little more bearable.

Since then, we’ve never fully returned to our old traditions. Instead, we’ve adapted them to make way for something new, keeping what worked and letting go of what didn’t. It took time for us to slip into new rhythms that fit.

A friend of mine was widowed last year, just before Christmas. I was reminded, yet again, of the ongoing challenge of grief. There is the fresh grief of missing someone you love deeply. And then there’s the complicated, ongoing grief of knowing that they will continue to miss all the other special moments, now and in the future—every new baby born, every wedding, every holiday—forever.

When grief threatens to steal our joy, we can find renewed strength in what remains. When it’s a person that we’ve lost, we can honor them at Christmastime by reflecting on their legacy.

It’s been almost twenty years since my sister Katrina died. Yet her legacy remains strong in us, the ones lucky to have been loved by her. She and I loved HomeGoods decor, traveling, old musicals like Singin’ in the Rain and Meet Me in St. Louis, and James Taylor’s music. She was also the best in the family at styling hair and clothing, had a beautiful singing voice and was part of the church’s worship team, and was so personable as an executive assistant that everyone assumed she was the boss. But those characteristics only scratch the surface of who she was.

Because one of the things she truly excelled at was inviting people in. When she and her husband moved into a new neighborhood, they threw a party and invited everyone for a housewarming. She didn’t wait to be asked; she created her own invitations. She frequently opened her home to others—for Bible studies, showers, parties—and fostered community. When you came to visit, her house always felt so welcoming. She’d often leave nail polish or a lotion tucked onto the dresser in the guest room when I’d stay overnight. She never overlooked small ways to make you feel loved.

So many of the things I do now, especially when offering hospitality, have been influenced by her innate ability to draw others in and make them feel important and loved. Loving others well is her legacy; someday, I want it to be mine.

When I encounter another holiday and think about missing my sister, I focus not on what I’ve lost but on what I’ve gained by knowing her.

Although we celebrate the birth of Jesus at Christmas, the hope of the Resurrection is what sustains us through the joys and sorrows of life. Because of Jesus, we have the hope of new life. As Scripture notes, death holds no sting for us since we know we’ll see our loved ones again. First Thessalonians 4:13-14 reminds us that we can hold on to hope because heaven lies ahead: “We want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus returns, God will bring back with him the believers who have died.”

In Jesus, we have a living hope. It’s that hope that anchors our faith, sustains our souls, and gives us the courage to face each day.

One practical way to honor those we’ve lost is by telling others about them. For instance, on Katrina’s most recent birthday, my sister Kendra, our parents, our husbands and children, and our aunt and cousin all gathered around the dining room table. With cupcakes in hand, we took turns sharing our favorite memories about Katrina.

My dad talked about how, as a child, she was always the ringleader of the group. Other kids would follow behind her in what my parents fondly referred to as “Katie’s Club.” We laughed about how she was voted Miss Teen Camp and reminisced about the many happy, lazy summer vacations we’d spent together at Madeline Island. Our kids were quiet, mostly, but sometimes they asked a question. None of our children ever met Katrina, but her memory is alive and well through our stories. Through laughter and tears, we’ve honored Katrina’s legacy by inviting others to share in our memories.

When we take note of our loved ones’ legacies—of love, faith and trust in God, joy, peace, or faithfulness—we can find new ways to celebrate and honor them through our traditions, old and new. At Christmastime, we can acknowledge our grief while taking comfort in the hope that we have in Jesus and the fact that until we meet our loved ones again in heaven, we can still celebrate them now. And we can feel grateful knowing that, long after we’re gone, the legacy we leave in those we’ve loved will remain.

Dear Lord Jesus, thank you for comforting us in our grief. May we hold tightly to the hope we have in you and your sustaining power to console us in every season and at every holiday. Help us find ways to celebrate and remember those no longer with us during this Christmas season, even as we gain strength from knowing we will see them again someday. Help us focus less on what we’ve lost and instead on everything we have gained from their legacy of love. Amen.