A Modern Christmas Carol: When the Lights Went Out Before Christmas
Opening
This is not a story about bitterness.
It is a story about endurance.
About faith stretched thin.
And about trusting Jesus when the world feels very far away.
This is a modern-day Christmas Carol.
Not one wrapped in nostalgia, but one lived in real time.
And like the original, it has ghosts of the past, the present, and the future.
Stave One: The Ghost of Christmas Past
Not so long ago, life looked very different.
For over six years, I worked faithfully serving government clients—long hours, late nights, always answering the phone when doctors called, when injured workers needed help, when no one else would step in. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest work. It allowed us to live modestly, care for our family, give to others, and quietly support our community.
We were the helpers.
The givers.
The ones who showed up.
Earlier this year, everything changed. A government “cleanup” shifted contracts and companies, and by the end of May, my income disappeared. Overnight, what had been steady and dependable was gone.
When the new company took over, I tried to transition. I wanted to keep serving the same clients I had cared for so diligently. But what they asked of me was wrong. They wanted the billing altered. They wanted in-person doctor visits labeled as telehealth. They wanted nurses to stop answering calls once a certain amount of time had been billed, as if compassion and care could be scheduled and shut off.
When I questioned it—when I said this was against the law and against my conscience—the answer was simple.
They said they no longer needed my services.
Integrity came at a cost I never expected.
Stave Two: The Ghost of Christmas Present
The months that followed felt like watching winter creep into every corner of our lives.
I searched constantly for work. One company eventually reached out after months of silence and began sending assignments. I worked late into the night, often until 11 or 12, completing reports, attending appointments, answering calls. They acknowledged receiving the work. They acknowledged the hours.
But payment was delayed again and again—held until invoices were “fully processed.”
Because of those delays, the unthinkable happened just days before Christmas.
Despite a payment arrangement, despite explanations, and despite speaking with multiple supervisors, our electricity was shut off.
My mother—blind, disabled, and elderly—sat in a cold, dark house for hours. She could not warm food. She could not safely move around. She could not understand why the familiar sounds of the home were gone.
She is our Tiny Tim.
And unlike the story we all know, there was no warm hearth glowing in that moment. Only prayer.
Food spoiled. Silence filled the house. We begged for mercy and were told there was none.
We did what families do when love leaves no other choice. We found a way to restore the power. But the weight of that day still lingers.
At the same time, doors continued to close. Assistance for my mother was denied. Support meant to help families like ours did not come through. Our son—who has one kidney and respiratory challenges—became ill, and without insurance, even basic care required a sacrifice.
The dryer broke. Credit disappeared. Job opportunities demanded impossible choices—weeks away from home, unpaid training, leaving behind a disabled mother and a child who needs care.
Still, we worked.
My husband, Marcus, drove for Lyft whenever he could just to keep food on the table. I worked late nights, praying someone would do what was right.
They knew the work was done.
They knew the hours were real.
They simply chose not to act.
Stave Three: The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come
And yet, this is not a story without hope.
Because even in this long winter, God has not left us.
A dear friend blessed me with a pair of sneakers I had always wanted and a birthday gift card—small gestures that reminded me I was seen. Someone gave toward our charity to help with a storage unit—not everything we need, but a start. A colleague quietly gave what she could and said she hoped it would bless us.
Our church surrounded us with prayer and tangible support, reminding us that we were not alone.
These were not grand miracles.
But neither was the manger.
This Christmas looks different. There are no presents under the tree. There is uncertainty where comfort used to be. But there is faith. There is prayer. And there is Jesus—our provider, our refuge, our hope when every earthly system fails.
We believe He sees every unpaid hour, every tear, every late-night prayer whispered in exhaustion. We believe He is still the God who multiplies loaves, who opens doors no one else can open, who brings light into the darkest rooms.
Maybe the miracle hasn’t fully arrived yet.
Maybe the Scrooge in this story has not awakened.
But God is never late.
So we write this not in anger, but in faith.
Faith that hearts will soften.
Faith that provision will come.
Faith that one day we will look back and say, “That was the season God carried us through.”
Because even when the lights go out, the Light of the World still shines.
Closing Prayer
Heavenly Father,
Thank You for Your presence in the darkest moments. You see every tear, every unanswered prayer, every act of love given in faith.
Lord Jesus, You are our Light in every shadow, our hope when doors are closed, and our refuge when we feel alone. Comfort my mother, protect my son, strengthen my husband, and guide our steps.
We trust You even when the ending has not yet arrived. Help us to wait with faith and to believe that redemption often comes after the longest night.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
🎧 Listen to the podcast episode:
A Modern Christmas Carol – Tea Time with Just Rosie Moore
https://spotifycreators-web.app.link/e/oKtCrAjZhZb