Holidays
In loving memory of:
Bud and Fern Jensen
Harry and Aino Messikepp
Rochin Mussen
Donnie Querin
and Kelly Brown
Christmas is a little broken without them, but then there’s Jesus.
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the broken hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised (Luke 4:18 KJV),
’Tis sometimes the season for pain. Sometimes the bell ringer sounds a sour note because the bell cannot find a joyful echo in the heart. The lights don’t shine. They only highlight the darkness of pain and grief.
Such was my mood last Christmas Eve. A good friend had passed away two months before, and the emptiness hadn’t yet been filled. My family was in another city, and I would spend my first Christmas alone. Santa was for the children. And that sweet baby in the manger seemed to only be there for the families who knew the joy of new birth, rather than the tearing separation of death. I knew better of course, but the grieving heart doesn’t always listen to the better, self.
On that day, I was bravely attempting to find some small joy in the season, walking around and looking at the lights of the city. I listened to the music and watched the light snow falling on my neighborhood. But it just felt, well, broken. That was it. Christmas was broken.
I went to bed early that night and decided I would sleep in the next morning. Out of habit, I said a quick prayer before bed.
“God. I know tomorrow is when we celebrate Your birthday. So happy birthday. But I’m stuck.”
For some reason, that was all I could think to pray. So I snuggled under the covers and slowly drifted off to sleep. I slept late as I had intended. It felt good. I had been working hard, and at least I had the day off. That was something. I got up and made coffee. And I decided to make myself a nice omelette. After breakfast, I went ahead and got ready for the day. I kept hearing my mothers voice saying, “You never know.” It’s true.
The knock at my door came just as I had finished curling my hair. I looked out my window and saw a woman with a bag of something in her hand, holding a shovel. She was dressed for the cold weather, and she was smiling a gentle smile. I still don’t know why I opened the door. I’m not in the habit of opening my door to strangers. But somehow I knew she was harmless.
“Yes?”
“A friend sent me over. He said your walk could use a shoveling. My name’s Angela.”
I looked past her at my walk. Yes. The walk could use a shoveling. I probably would have left it till the next morning, but, why not? It wasn’t bad.
“Oh I can do that later. He didn’t have to send you over. Who ever he is.”
“But it’s really okay. It’s part of his Christmas gift for you, and I’m happy to do it.”
She looked so ready to be of service. Again, I don’t know why I did it, but I said she could go ahead, and told her she could leave her bag inside where it wouldn’t get snow all over it. She made short work of shoveling the walk. And I admitted to myself it was a relief to have it done. Part of me wanted her to hurry and get it done. And the other part wanted her to slow down and to find some excuse to keep her around a little while longer.
Remembering some fancy hot chocolate I had bought on a whim the week before, I hurried to the kitchen to get the milk started heating. She’d be cold after shoveling. Maybe she’d like to warm up before going home. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen a car. So maybe she had walked over. Where was she from anyway? I went back to the door and saw that she was just finishing.
“I made some hot chocolate. Do you want to come in and warm up before you get back to your family?”
“I’d like that. And my family isn’t worried. They’re used to me making these trips to help out.”
So saying, she leaned the shovel against a porch post and came inside. She picked up her bag and said, “I also brought some cookies. They’re another part of the gift.”
Was she for real?
“Great. We can share them while we have the chocolate.”
Angela brought the cookies in and set them out on the table. They were on a pretty plate that she said was for me to keep. She was being awfully generous for a stranger. But she kept saying she was doing it on behalf of a friend, who supposedly also knew me. Part of me kept thinking how seriously weird all of this was. And yet I just couldn’t see this woman being anything but what she seemed.
While I was putting the hot chocolate into cups and taking out napkins for the cookies, Angela brought out a wrapped box.
“And here’s the rest of the gift. My friend said you needed to have something to help you remember this Christmas.”
I really had to find out who this “friend” was. I had had only one really good friend in town, and she was dead. I wasn’t really close to anyone else at work or at church. There was a rich old man who went to my church, whom people whispered about a lot. Apparently he liked to help people without letting too many folks know it was his doing. Maybe that was it. Maybe the fellow had heard through the church grape vine that I was going to be alone this Christmas. That was unlikely, but it was the only explanation I could come up with.
Still wondering, I sat down at the table and started unwrapping the gift. I had to admit I was eager to see what it was. I mean, who doesn’t lie to get a surprise gift? I unwrapped a box which opened to reveal something carefully wrapped in tissue paper. I undid the tissue and stared.
It was a slightly large hand-carved ornament, sanded until it was shiny, and beautifully detailed. A woman looked down at a box where straw had been carefully carved. She was looking at a baby lying in that straw. I could make out the swaddling clothes, and the smile on the mother’s face. And I could see the look of gentle pride on the face of the man who stood next to her. It was such a sweet picture. It is amazing how an expert carver can bring out emotion in wooden faces.
“I wonder if Christmas was broken for them.,” Angela said softly.
My head came up sharply. She had spoken the word I had been thinking the night before! Had to be a coincidence.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, they were quite likely far away from their families. It was the most important day in history, and their main audience was a group of animals. The greatest human to ever walk the earth had just been born, and only they knew it. Seems like that would have sounded an odd note in their joy for just a moment.”
I had never really thought of that before. Of course there were the shepherds, and the wise men. Though a lot of people say that part came later. But right at first? Who knows if the inn keeper or any of the guests knew what was going on. Probably not. So Mary and Joseph might have had a broken Christmas too. But Angela wasn’t finished.
“And I wonder if His birthday was ever broken for Him.”
“You mean Jesus?”
“Yeah. He spent His life being rejected. And His death, for that matter. He lost his friend, Lazarus. Who knows how close that was to His birthday?”
Was this lady a mind reader? She was hitting my sore spots. But it felt, well, bitter sweet. Maybe Jesus understood. I knew the stories of course. I knew about the first Christmas, and the death of Lazarus before he got raised from the dead. But It just hadn’t seemed to connect with me before. It was easy to think that Jesus, God, couldn’t really understand how empty and sad I felt; how broken. I mean, he’s God. He knows how it all ends. He knows all the beginnings and endings. He knew Lazarus would be raised from he dead. tHe knew people would reject Him. But did that make it hurt less? Didn’t the Bible say He experienced everything that we do? So that would include emptiness, loneliness, sadness.
I started to tear up at the new realization. But I didn’t want to cry in front of this virtual stranger. But the tears came faster as I looked down at the ornament in an attempt to compose myself. It looked so much like something my friend would have bought for me. She was the sister of my heart. We always seemed to know what the other needed. And I missed her so much at that moment. As I gave in and lost it, I felt a hand cover mine.
“I know,” Angela said. “I knew Jenna. And I saw you at her funeral. Then last night, I felt a strong nudge that I needed to come hear this morning. That happens sometimes. So I keep gifts I find on hand in case I need them. I knew I was supposed to bring that one. Jenna was a sweet heart. And it hurts that she couldn’t stay.”
I just nodded. No more words were needed. Angela let me cry. After I had cried for a little while, Angela got up and reheated our chocolate.
“Tell me about Jenna. I knew her, but not real well.”
So I told her about Jenna. I told how we had known each other as kids and had lost touch. Then we had ended up going to the same college and working at the same company, but in different departments. We had been two single women with no sisters of our own. So we adopted each other. We argued sometimes, but always protected the friendship. Then the car accident shattered my world.
“You know,” Angela said. “I can’t really imagine how it feels. I’ve never yet lost anyone that close to me. But Jesus gets it. He really does. His closest friends weren’t there for Him when He needed them most. But He knew where to turn. He asked His father, God, for comfort. And angels came. He’s just waiting for you to ask Him. He’ll come. He’ll give you comfort when the nights are dark and no one sees the hurt.”
“I know, I said. “Well, I know now. I just never got it before. It’s hard to think of Jesus, the one who conquered death, understanding what it’s like to grieve someone.”
“Yeah. I remember when I first started to really get it. I hadn’t lost someone as close as Jenna, but I had lost my grandma. And all the firsts were painful: first Christmas, Easter, birthday. She was one of those cookie grandmas who knew just the right thing to say. And she gave the best gifts. Simple, but just right. But I was reading my Bible and it just opened my eyes. He knows. And I truly believe He weeps with us.”
“Thanks. Thanks for coming when He told you too. I hope your family doesn’t want to cook me with the Christmas turkey.”
“No. I told you. Their used to this. They know I’ll be back and we’ll have Christmas dinner. We’ve already opened our gifts. Hey, do you want to join us for Christmas dinner?”
“I do, but I think I just need to be alone.”
“Okay. I understand. But I want to bring you some food later. You shouldn’t miss the meal altogether.”
“Thanks. I’ll enjoy it. Especially if it’s as good as these cookies.”
Angela laughed and stood up to leave. She took her dishes to the sink and gave me a hug.
“See you in church.”
“Sure,” I said with a smile.
As the door closed, I took a deep breath. The house was quiet, but a good quiet. It didn’t feel empty anymore. I still did, but there was a seed of hope. Someone got it. The Someone that Christmas was all about. I left the dirty dishes and went into the living room. I hung the new ornament on my small tree. It was the only one, as I really hadn’t felt like decorating. The tree didn’t look so bear now.
Now it was time to have a talk. I knelt, and began to just talk. Sometimes I talked in my head, and sometimes out loud. I pictured Jesus standing near me or sitting on the couch. I cried some more. As I was finishing, I knew. It wasn’t a tangible feeling, but I knew there were arms around me. The Christ who understood my grief was wrapping me in His arms. I wasn’t alone.
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