December 24, 2012
-
I blink at the small Christmas tree where my big one was last year. It’s a simple solution to the problem of not much help getting the huge old thing out of the attic: merely put up a 3 foot tree. Done. It’s lovely, crowned with a too-big star like a child wearing a too-big hat. But it’s my tree, and I love it.
I’m sentimental tonight. Sometimes my mind turns to peer down dangerous turns, like looking down dark allies in a big city. Not much good to see, if at all. I am fearful of the truth sometimes. I want to remember the lovely and stop there.I think back to people I knew as a child. My Sunday school teacher in 1st grade. I remember her perfectly, in her light brown hair fluffed up like an old lady who isn’t quite grey yet. And her 80s shoulder padded dresses. Always dresses, in those days. Women of her generation didn’t even think of wearing pants to church. I’m not sure how old she really was, but to a 1st grader she was just plain old. She came, faithfully, every week to my class to teach me stories from the Bible. She had a felt board with little flat action figure people she’d stick on the board for us to look at while she told the stories of Ruth and Boaz, Nicodemus, Paul, and Jesus. I’ve been back to that church as a full grown person. I never realized how low the ceilings were in the children’s wing, and how tiny the chairs. I tear up thinking about how she gave her time to teach me the Bible. I don’t even know if she’s still alive, and I don’t remember her name.There was a woman named Mrs. Baron in the town I lived in as a baby. My mom and I used to go and visit her when she’d go back to visit from church friends. I haven’t seen her since I was a child. I just remember how effusively wonderful and kind she was as she rolled to the front door to open it for us. She suffered with some disease that took her from a cane to a wheelchair over the course of my childhood. But I didn’t know she was suffering. She had a very modest home and a big dog, and a handsome son. I remember her having the neighborhood children over all the time and she would tell them about Jesus. She loved Him so. I tear up thinking about how she suffered so quietly and showed love to those around her. I don’t even know if she’s alive anymore.The widow I stayed with in England in 2005/2006 was named Jean. She was a cockney woman who lived through WWII and had a dog named Penny. She was so kind to Christine and myself to let us stay in her home for 6 months without even meeting us before hand. Her husband had passed away and she lived alone otherwise. She helped us with so many things and taught me much about the world. Though she’d had a hard life, she had a heart for Jesus. I tear up thinking about her and how it wasn’t that long ago I saw her last. I don’t even know if she’s still alive because I don’t have an email address for her.All of these things wouldn’t be too hard to find out, with some persistence. But the truth is that I’m a coward. I don’t to look into the darkness of death. I’d rather not know if someone is living or dead, for fear of grief. Grief is scary. It feels like falling with no idea of ever hitting the ground. Death is permanent. Unknowing is indefinite.And about the tree: There is always next year. I don’t seem to be going anywhere.
Comments (11)
I think God brings certain people into our lives for just the right season. Maybe it’s okay to let that be our memory and not chase the “where are they now”.
J got our little 4 ft tree on clearance the spring before J & I got married. We’re still using it because it’s pre-lit and so easy to put up. Still our son has noticed that it is the smallest Christmas tree around and has asked if we can get a larger one. We saw one at Target that we love, so I’m stalking it and hoping to get it after the holidays when they all go on sale. It too is pre-lit and about 6 ft tall, so still not a giant tree. Giant trees don’t fit it cozy cottages!
Writing extemporaneously, off the top of my head. I dig, on several levels…I think.
It’s always risky to presume to know what the other person thinks. As St. Paul says, no one knows one’s own thoughts but oneself. And the other person might feel like someone is trying to psych them.
But…this thing of reminiscing on Christmas Eve; I liken it to several things; it’s like the Ghosts of Christmas taking Scrooge to look in on the lives of those he knew in his past & present; or it’s like Obi-Wan and Yoda guiding Luke in the ways of the Force. Obi-Wan felt the sudden demise of Alderan, many voices crying out in terror, as the Death destroyed Leia’s adopted home world in ST A New Hope; or like Yoda saying, “Old friends you will see, things and places past and present.
(I should add the disclaimer: I am not alarmed by the obvious parapsychological overtones; I take the metaphoric approach to tales of fantasy, as our bros. in Christ, C.S. Lewis & J.R.R. Tolkien, do) But I digress.
Anyhow…it’s on this day, esp. on this night, that I can look up and feel the connection. I can feel my soul enlarging. It’s a thing I experienced in my childhood, long before my quasi-confirmation in the Presbyterian Church as a young teenager, longer before my declaration of faith in Christ at a Youth For Christ rally as an older teenager.
I find myself drawn to other metaphors. Charlie Brown, after hearing Linus’ wonderful recitation of the Nativity Story, leaves the auditorium totally impervious to the stares of the others. He gazes up at the twinkling stars; the words ring in his head, “For lo, unto you is born this night…” (from rote…no visual aides in front of me) and he determines that Linus is right; he won’t let the commercialization get to him. The composer who wrote “O Little Town of Bethlehem” related how he stood himself under the starry sky of Bethlehem one Christmas Eve in the very Holy Land. It was then that the words of the song came to him. There’s an old tale my former wife remembers from her childhood, that the lights on the 15 foot tall Christmon Tree symbolized every member of the church; one light for each person (actually, the membership was a pretty constant rough 300, & the lights on the Tree numbered at least a thousand, but who would be so hard-hearted as to quibble with such a beautiful imagery?)
I could usually experience this transcendent feeling during the Christmas Eve service, or on the ride home, looking up at the stars, or seeing the homes decorated with lights stretching into the distance (I grew up in a small town of southeast Michigan; kinda flat, lotta visibility. Maybe like your part of Texas). I would wonder what was going on in each of those homes. I would wonder if Santa (when I was still a kid) was somewhere over head.(I should also add…after wrestling with the issue for years, I have no trouble with blending both the Manger and the Mistletoe, as it were. I can totally understand those whose consciences dictate otherwise…but I won’t pursue that train of thought)
As I said…feeling full of the joy…fairly bursting with it…wanting to share it with all men (or, as the gender-neutrality faction would insist on, “all folk” hehe) The conviction within me is absolute, as surely as Our Lord reminded the Saducees of the passage “I AM the God of Abraham, Issac, and Jacob…He is the God of the living, not the dead” (to refute their doctrine of no afterlife)…as absolute as Scrooge seeing the lives of the Cratchit family, and old Fezziwig, that your dear tutors in Christ are alive in Him, whether still in the body or not.
(commercial pause)
Dang. Looking at that big block of text. I’m comparatively gabby today.
But…to resume (“Must you?” says Amy wearily)
I’ll try & keep it short. We come to those places in our lives where we hit the wall. The Thrill Is Gone, as the old soul song goes (Otis Redding, I think; but again, I digress)
As moi often states, my Tree has been up continually in my post-marriage cubicle apt since December 2009. It is one of the extra artificial trees from our old life together, when we put up multiple trees up around the house. it’s decorated with a couple spare sets of lights & ornaments. It’s not coming down, either, for the forseeable future. Maybe when I move outa my post-marriage cubicle apt…or when they carry me out feet first.
And at the old homestead, they’re not putting up the Big Tree, festooned with dozens of ornaments, lovingly collected over the decades, some made by the kids, some given, some acquired to mark a special family milestone, like the kids’ births.
There ya go…spinning the wheels, like a car stuck in the mud…or the snow, depending on the season…or the hamster in the cage.
What am I leading up to? (chortle) Actually, haven’t the foggiest. Like I said at the beginning of this opus of a comment, writing off the top of my head.
Just want to say to you, Amy…straight from my heart. I think I know where your head & heart are at. I will tell you what someone once told me in my despondency: Our lives are hid with Christ (St. Paul’s epistles) Our faces are graven on the Palms of His Hands (Isaiah 54) And none shall snatch us from out of those strong Hands.
Tonight I join my son and his esteemed mother at the church where I pledged my marital vows, and where our kids were confirmed. There we will behold the Christmon Tree in all its glory, with its hundreds of immaculate white lights and white ornaments of classical Christian symbols. We will sing the carols. We will conclude with the Candlelight Service, singing Silent Night in German, reflecting the German heritage of the congregation’s founding members over 150 years ago. We will lift the candles high. My daughter will be out of state, across the continent from me, with her fella, a really decent guy, by all appearances. And once more, for just a moment, my throat will tighten in both joy and grief; my eyes will moisten. and my heart will soar, wondering where St. Nicholas is, in the clouds.
I know that you cause hearts to soar with your voice. May your heart soar. May you experience a heart at rest in the Manger. Peace be upon you, your mother, & those whom you hold dear…& Zorro.
Oh, yeah; felt boards; I so remember the felt boards. From my youth. In the 1950′s. They must’ve been in use aboard Noah’s Ark.
Remembering people we loved in the past is good, and to show it even better. But to realize we have no way to know if they are even still alive, has to be okay. We remember. We reach out for information as we can. We tell them, if given the chance. Then we wait, without regrets, if our reach out is ignored, or comes to nothing. We look to the one who commands our lives, and we smile. Rejoice! The Lord has come.
1 Corinthians 15:51-58 HCSB
Listen! I am telling you a mystery: We will not all fall asleep, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the blink of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised incorruptible, and we will be changed. For this corruptible must be clothed with incorruptibility, and this mortal must be clothed with immortality. When this corruptible is clothed with incorruptibility, and this mortal is clothed with immortality, then the saying that is written will take place: Death has been swallowed up in victory. Death, where is your victory? Death, where is your sting? Now the sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!
Therefore, my dear brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the Lord’s work, knowing that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.
—Do not allow your fears to dictate what you should do. Death is not the reality for the believer. Your faith should encourage you to live for the Lord now. The message of Christmas is the good news of eternal life. Now, dear sister in the Lord, stop making it all about you and listen to what God would have you do. What if your delightful memories were the inspiration someone else who also knew these blessed folks, needed to hear! Shame on you for focusing on your fear instead of your faith!
@PastorBlastor - …”shame on you”.
When I had a big, artificial tree, I stored it in pieces in various locations so that I could move the biggest piece, which weighed about 20 pounds, separately. The Walmart trees I’ve seen come in a huge box with the warning “Team Lift”
With great Christmas love,
Unca Ted
Merry Christmas, Amy.
My daughter and I were remembering our last Christmas with aunt Pearl. She was terminally ill. My entire family was there that Christmas—unusual. Suddenly, there was so much joy and laughter and fun. She was giggling like crazy. It was a huge blessing. Her body is buried near us. Norma led her to the Lord in the past and I led her husband to the Lord when he was visiting.
Some memories are sad for sure.
blessings,
frank
For me, death is but a step in our journey…a step to the bigger and better. I have a saying when one I know dies: lucky bastard. I know they have entered into what all Christians pray for while here on earth: peace.
our grief is a reminder of the unending love of our creator.
merry christmas.
@NightCometh - I meant no disrespect, if I offended I apologize, but wanted you to see that your posting came across, at least to me, as kind of morose. While this season can bring those kinds of feelings out in us,we should focus on the true meaning. God loves you and places people in your life to enrich it and to mature you, not following up on some of those who did so because of misplaced fears can keep you and others from the joy of sharing how they influenced your life in such positive and godly ways. I say this from personal experience.