We finished putting the last trimming on the tree. I headed down the hallway toward my bedroom, my head automatically turning to the right to check what's going on inside the bedroom across from it. Still. Even though I no longer have any reason to check in there, my body, after years of repeating the same action over and over, has formed a habit. Much like the smoker who doesn't know what to do with their hand when giving up smoking, my head turns to check on my mother who passed away a couple of months ago.

I knew the time would come for my mom to go and be with the Lord. I never expected her to live forever. But she had been with us for 11 years and I had become accustomed to her presence in the house. Each Christmas I would wonder, “Will this be our last one together?” She already beat cancer once and every check up that proclaimed her cancer free was another reason to celebrate. Even her dementia from strokes didn't seem to keep her down and she was always so cheerful and happy to go to church and senior's group. However, last year at Christmas I just knew there was something different. I knew it would be her last Christmas with me. And it was.

Grief is funny. We experience waves of emotions and after a time they diminish in intensity. However, it's the small, ordinary everyday things that I find break through the busyness of life to remind me of her.

Like my head turning to look in her room…

Like decorating the tree…

Like being able to go out and not arrange someone to be with her…

I consider myself blessed. I have a family to support me during this time of loss and grief. I have a warm, safe home, lots of friends who care about me and staff at work to help carry the load. I couldn't imagine my life being any different.

But life is very different for many others. There are many people in this world who suffer through loss and grief alone, no family or friends to help, abandoned by the world. You can see them everywhere you go, but you may not recognize them. You pass them on the street everyday - it's like they're invisible.

Like the woman who is too old to stay in her apartment anymore, all her friends passing away, one after the other. She has a fall, they take her to the hospital and now she's in a nursing home. Alone.

And like the fellow who lost his family and everything he owned through alcoholism. A few bad choices too many and there is no one to help him in his grief. Alone and destitute he ends up in a shelter wondering what happened to bring him to this.

And like the woman who stands staring at the shop window display showing a family scene, remembering the family she had – and lost because of drugs. Where are her children today? They are with some other family, not with her. And she is alone.

So I'll go again this week to visit the woman at the nursing home. I'll take her a knitted shawl and have a cup of tea with her. One of the volunteers or staff will come and sit with the fellow at the shelter and listen to his story, offering compassion and hope. Someone will take the woman addicted to drugs and help her find out where her children are and help her pick out some presents to send to them. And each will hear of the love of Jesus. They'll hear that still relevant story of God who came from heaven to earth as a baby and lived among us. Who died and rose again to give us eternal and abundant life.

This year there are many who won't hear that message of love and hope. Many of God's children will be too busy shopping for gifts or getting ready for the church Christmas play. But you and I can begin to make a difference. Is there something you can do? Who can you take this message to? Ask God to open your eyes to see those whom others miss. There is someone out there waiting to hear from you.

Major Kathie Chiu is the Corps Officer and Executive Director of The Caring Place Ministries, Mountain View Community Church, Maple Ridge, B.C.