When the Stockings Hang Heavy: Grief, Christmas, and the Hope of Christ

December 2025 Blog Post – God Above All Else

Every year since Ryan’s death, my heart grows heavy as the holidays approach. While the world turns toward celebration—lights twinkling, music playing, families gathering—my own heart feels that familiar ache rising. Christmas, with all its beauty and wonder, has a way of shining a bright light on what is missing.

When I hang the stockings on the fireplace, I place Ryan’s stocking right alongside Ken’s and our other children’s—just like I always have. And every time, without fail, a sharp ache presses into my chest. Tears well up as memories flood in: Christmas mornings full of excitement, Ryan’s bright smile, the joy in his eyes as he opened a gift he loved.

And then comes the sorrow of what will no longer be this side of heaven. No new memories.No new photos. No new moments to add to the ones I treasure. And as I hang his stocking, I am struck yet again by the reality that no goodies are needed to fill Ryan’s stocking… it will forever be hung empty. That empty stocking tells a story all its own.

As I decorate, I also reach for The Nelson Family Christmas Book, flipping through the Christmas letters I wrote year after year, filled with stories of the chaos, noise, busyness, and exhaustion that comes with a home full of six children. What once felt overwhelming now feels achingly precious. I didn’t know then just how simple, beautiful, and fleeting those moments were. Even the loudest, wildest, most exhausting days pale in comparison to life now without one of God’s greatest blessings with us.

One letter in particular stopped me this year—Christmas of 2004. I read these words I wrote 21 years ago:

“Ryan turned four in September and continues to keep us jumping! He stays busy with preschool two afternoons a week and Awana every Wednesday evening. He recently shared with me that he asked Jesus into his heart. He then proceeded to lift up his shirt and point to his right nipple saying: ‘He is not in this one, Mommy, but He is in the one’ (pointing to his left nipple). No, there is never a dull moment with Ryan around. Although he occasionally makes us want to pull our hair out, his smile always lights a fire in our hearts and brings continuous laughter to our home. We know and believe that God is going to use this amazing ball of energy to accomplish great things.”

Little did I know, as I took pen to paper two decades ago, just how deeply these words would one day minister to me.

Not only the profound joy of knowing Ryan expressed faith in Christ as a young child—something that now anchors my heart with eternal hope—but also the tender way God prompted me to write those exact words in a letter I would desperately need to cling to years later. And perhaps most humbling of all is this: I had no idea how true those final lines would become. God has used Ryan to accomplish great things—but not in the way any mother would ever choose. Through his life, and tragically through his death on September 13, Ryan has impacted countless lives. His story has opened doors for conversations about mental health, faith, grief, and hope that I never imagined. His light continues to shine.

When I hang Ryan’s stocking or trace the handwriting in a 20-year-old Christmas letter, I hold two truths together:

1. My grief is real and valid.

2. My hope is certain and eternal.

Because of Christ, Ryan’s story did not end on September 13th. Because of Christ, death does not get the final word. Because of Christ, every tear shed in front of the fireplace is held by the God who promised He will one day wipe them all away.

There will come a day when the ache in my chest is replaced by unending joy—when I see my son again, whole and radiant in the presence of Jesus. Until then, I cling to the truth that Christ came for this very reason: to enter our brokenness, carry our sorrows, and bring a hope that suffering cannot steal from us.

So if your heart feels heavy this Christmas…If an empty chair or a stocking brings tears…If old letters or holiday photos stir a longing for simpler days…

Please know this:You are not alone.You are not forgotten.And you are not without hope.

Jesus came for the brokenhearted. He came for the grieving parent.He came for those who long for heaven a little more each year. He came for you.

This Christmas, may the light of Christ shine gently into the places that hurt. May His presence comfort you, His promises steady you, and His love remind you that even in grief, deep joy is possible—not the fragile joy tied to circumstances, but the soul-deep joy that comes from knowing that Emmanuel, God with us, has come.

And because of Him, hope will have the final word.