Merry Christmas 🎄

our virtual Christmas card

Hi friend,

Merry Christmas from the Punzi family 🤍

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As one does nearing the end of a year, I recently scrolled through my camera roll.

That was this year?

I think there are two things that make the passage of time feel more dramatic: raising a young child and grieving the death of a loved one. It only takes weeks or months to see how quickly things change, how much I and my daughter have grown. Looking back at the entire year fills me with great joy at all the things we were able to do, and I sigh to think of all the Frank missed.

We traveled a lot this year. We travelled to Florida to vacation with Frank’s family. I co-led a mission trip to Berlin, and Lois got to join. Then for our own family vacation, we visited Boston and stayed with some friends who are in the process of planting a church there. What a privilege to hop on so many planes, see beautiful places, and experience the incredible treasure of the global church.

My pandemic baby started kindergarten this year: a sentence I never imagined saying. It’s been amazing to watch her confidence grow exponentially since August. She’s learning phonics, conflict management, and how to cope when your teacher takes extended leave because of a family medical emergency. Although it has not been a seamless transition for either of us, I’m grateful for the encouragement of other moms I’ve gotten to know. The pickup line is an unexpected grace to me.

You all know that my book released this year. It feels like that happened so long ago, partly because the process of writing and publishing a book is a long one. However, I think it’s still sinking in that I got to write this book at all. Adjacent to its release, I’ve gotten to write numerous articles and give lots of interviews. To my surprise, I’ve had a lot of fun. I thought I would be more nervous, but getting the chance to talk about this precious story has truly been a joy. Next year will include more writing, more interviews, and more speaking engagements—and I can’t wait.

Some small joys from this year:

• Growing a wildflower garden and giving away vases of blooms to friends.

• Crocheting a baby blanket for a friend after years of praying for a miracle.

• Watching Lois’ love for reading explode.

• Teaching a group of German children about the God who made them and saved them.

• Finishing reading The Chronicles of Narnia aloud and starting The Hobbit.

• Consuming an incalculable amount of Earl Grey tea.

• Reading fiction books, a reprieve from research/MDiv reading.

This is also our fourth Christmas without Frank, but that feels impossible because we were only married for four years. Four years used to be the longest measurement of time with my life with him, and soon my life after his death will surpass this. I still have thoughts that he’s not supposed to be missing all this, that she’s not supposed to be this old, that I’m not supposed to be labeling Christmas gifts just “from Mom.” This year I attended weddings and held babies (and didn’t go to any funerals.) And I also wept over missing him. In the midst of all these joys, my heart will always ache—this is the juxtaposition of the Christian life, even at Christmas:

God the Son taking on flesh, entering our world—our broken world, ravaged by sin and death—to die.

We celebrate his birth with an eye to what’s coming, the cross.

How could good come from being widowed at 24? How can good come from death?

We look to Christ’s death and resurrection: the greatest evil and our greatest good.

One of my favorite Christmas songs is “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” based on the poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

You know the words:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

The song begins with this grand declaration of good news, but then the speaker looks around at the world around him. He is filled with sadness.

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

This song reminds me what we do in our grief. We know that certain things are true of God, but we look around and we see brokenness. So we remind our hearts again of what is true. As the psalmist in Psalm 42 does as part of his lament, he exhorts heart to hold fast to God, even during ongoing suffering.

So if your heart aches this holiday season, remember:

God is not dead, nor doth He sleep.

Thank you for reading my writing. I’m humbled by how many people care to open these posts, and I’m grateful the Lord has given me this opportunity to write.

I hope you have wonderful Christmas 🤍

Alyson (+ Lois)