A Reason for a Season

 

“And in the quiet glow of Christmas light, I finally understood: God had chosen me not to suffer, but to heal and to bring that healing to others.”

Dear Readers,

The snow fell gently that Christmas Eve, blanketing the small town in white. The streets were aglow with soft golden lights, the sound of carolers drifting through the chilly air. While everyone prepared for festive gatherings, I sat alone in a small, rented room above an old bakery.

The room was bare, save for a rickety table, a single chair, and a small photo of my children Ivanka and Evan smiling brightly in their younger years. The same photo I'd carried through years of silence, alienation, and heartache.

Life had unraveled for me long ago. My wife’s departure had been sudden and cruel, severing not only their marriage but my connection to their children. Lies had spread like wildfire that I had abandoned them, that I didn’t care. Friends turned their backs, and even strangers whispered when I passed. nobody knew that exact story. but I kept quiet.

Now, on Christmas Eve, the world outside celebrated joy and togetherness while I sat in the shadows, a man broken and forgotten. I’d tried to fight the bitterness, tried to pray, but the silence had grown deafening.

I stared at the small, makeshift Christmas tree in the corner a branch I'd found in the park, decorated with scraps of ribbon. I whispered, “God, why did You choose me for this suffering? What good can come from all this emptiness?”

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Startled, I opened it to find an elderly woman bundled in a heavy coat, her face lined with kindness. She held out a small envelope and a steaming cup of soup.

“Merry Christmas,” she said softly. “You looked like someone who needed this.”

I blinked, confused. “Do I know you?”

“No,” she replied with a warm smile. “But God does. He sees you.”

She left without another word, disappearing into the snowy night. I closed the door, holding the envelope. Inside was a simple handwritten note:

‘Everything has a reason and a season. Trust Him. Don’t blame your pain it’s shaping you to be a blessing to others. Hold onto God.’

The words sank deep into my heart. I placed the note gently on the table and sat, staring at the tiny flickering candle I’d lit earlier. For the first time in years, something stirred within me a spark of hope.

The next morning Christmas Day I woke to the sound of church bells ringing. I bundled up, slipped the note into my coat pocket, and stepped outside. The world was bright and peaceful, the snow glistening in the morning sun. I felt drawn to the town square, where the church doors stood wide open.

Inside, the air was filled with the smell of pine and the sound of hymns. I hesitated at the back, unsure where I belonged when a voice called out.

“Sir, would you like to join us?” A young boy held out a basket of candles for the Christmas service. I took one, smiling faintly.

As the choir sang “Silent Night,” I lit my candle. For the first time in years, tears fell not of anger or despair, but of release. I silently prayed, “God, I don’t know what You’re doing, but I’ll trust You. If I’m meant to be a blessing, show me how.”

In the days that followed, I sat by my small table and began to write. I poured my heart onto paper letters filled with love, memories of my children, and stories of the man I had become. I shared how much I missed them, how I thought of them every day, and how proud I was of who they might be.

Alongside the letters, I began writing online, sharing my journey of alienation, loss, and faith. my words touched hearts far and wide others who felt abandoned, lost parents, and even children who longed to understand the truth about their absent fathers.

As Christmas approached the following year, I sat in my small room, still alone but no longer hopeless. I had found purpose in my pain, becoming a voice for those who felt silenced.

On Christmas Eve, I received an unexpected knock at the door. my heart leaped. Who could it be?

When I opened the door, two familiar faces stood before me Ivanka & Evan, now grown. Ivanka held a small bundle of My letters tied with string.

“We found these,” she said, tears in her eyes. “We didn’t know, Dada. We didn’t know the truth.”

my hands trembled as I reached for them, my voice catching. “You’re here… you’re really here?”

Evan nodded, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ve missed you, Dada.”

The three embraced in the doorway, the snow falling softly around them. In that moment, the years of pain melted away, replaced by love, forgiveness, and hope.

Reflection

The Christmas season reminds us that even in the darkest winters of life, light can be found. my story teaches us that God’s plan may not always be clear, but it is always good.

Our trials are not punishments but preparations to make us blessings to others. Hold onto hope, hold onto faith because everything truly has a reason and a season.

Final Line: “And in the quiet glow of Christmas light, I finally understood: God had chosen me not to suffer, but to heal and to bring that healing to others.”

Thank You, Jesus.

God Bless Us All…

Jacob M