When “Old Familiar Carols” Grew Quiet

Sandi Goforth

Stanza I

I heard the bells on Christmas day

Their old familiar carols play;

In music sweet the tones repeat,

“There’s peace on earth, good will to men.”

During that tough Christmas, we managed to get out the door to our Christmas Eve service. Feeling utterly alone in the crowd, we attempted to hold our candles and sing all the wonderful carols that usually filled our hearts with joy. But on that night, my husband and I held each other’s arms tightly and allowed the tears to roll down our cheeks. Just a few days earlier, we suffered the pain of miscarriage. We lost our baby at the same time the world welcomed the gift of His precious only child.

I knew this Child’s life would later be offered by His Father as payment for my sin. Yet, though I tried to let it sink in, my pain loomed larger than His. While the carols faded into the distance, His incalculable suffering began to convict me. I thanked God for His sacrifice. Shaking, as if jumping off a cliff, I released my unborn child back to Him.

Christmas carols, church bells, and handheld candles still hold a certain remembrance – of a child lost at the same time the world celebrated a Savior. In time, sadness subsided. More children came. We found joy in the Christmas season again.

“I heard the bells on Christmas Day, their old familiar Carols play…” Even through grief and pain, the “old familiar carols” ring out, loud and clear.