Thursday, December 07, 2006
A Remembered Time
It's Christmas time again. This one feels kind of indescribable, because I'm in a new town, and not very well connected with a church group, and instead of the house looking Christmasy, U-haul boxes waiting to be packed, are scattered all around.
I have a little apartment size tree that even has lights on it, but with all those boxes taking up space, can't figure out where to set it. The kitchen can't know it yet, but in a few days its shelves will be bare. It's not that I can't afford Chrismas goodies and other stuff this year. There's just no one here to prepare it for. So I won't be making my great brownies and other yummy stuff, not this year.
What this reminds me of is how attached we get to our usual ways of celebrating. I'm not complaining, honestly, I'm not. I'm sure hospitals have many patients who won't celebrate in their usual ways this year. Car wrecks, accidents, things that happen, at the most inconvenient times change lots of plans.
My heart is Christmasy though, and listening to soft reminders of other holiday times helps. I'm sure it's allright with the Christ in our Christmas, if I continue packing, as this holiday arrives.
Reminiscing helps too, and I'd like to share a special long ago Christmas with you.
It was 1971. I felt a little then, like I do now, not very connected to where I was. We had moved to Colorado, mostly because I thought if we lived in a different place, we might hold our 25 year marriage together. Time and distance didn't solve the reasons it was falling apart, so I filed for divorce, and just before the holidays, it was final.
Viet Nam was still raging. Some of my sons were at far away Naval bases. With so little money, and Christmas so near, and food stamps stretching only so far, I felt like your parents must have. I didn't know how I would afford presents, or a chicken or small turkey, and fixings to make dressing with.
Back then the children and I went to a Catholic church, and I remembered it was announced at Mass, if we knew of families who needed help, to put their names in the offering plate. I was embarrassed to do it, but wanted something that seemed like Christmas for the children that year. So I wrote out my name and address, and slipped it in the collection plate. I thought maybe we would get a food basket.
A few days before Christmas, two people from the church showed up, and handed me a basket filled with nice foods, things you couldn't usually afford, and $25.00 worth of supermarket vouchers. Before leaving the church people paused a moment, and said they had something else to give me. The priest knew I was going to school part time after work, so when he learned we needed help, he sent along a one hundred dollar check from the church, to encourage me, he said.
The childen grew up, not without bumps and struggles, but they all graduated from high school. When we talk about those years, it's not the being poor that we remember. It's knowing someone cared enough to help that Christmas. Someone cared enough to give us hope.
I have a little apartment size tree that even has lights on it, but with all those boxes taking up space, can't figure out where to set it. The kitchen can't know it yet, but in a few days its shelves will be bare. It's not that I can't afford Chrismas goodies and other stuff this year. There's just no one here to prepare it for. So I won't be making my great brownies and other yummy stuff, not this year.
What this reminds me of is how attached we get to our usual ways of celebrating. I'm not complaining, honestly, I'm not. I'm sure hospitals have many patients who won't celebrate in their usual ways this year. Car wrecks, accidents, things that happen, at the most inconvenient times change lots of plans.
My heart is Christmasy though, and listening to soft reminders of other holiday times helps. I'm sure it's allright with the Christ in our Christmas, if I continue packing, as this holiday arrives.
Reminiscing helps too, and I'd like to share a special long ago Christmas with you.
It was 1971. I felt a little then, like I do now, not very connected to where I was. We had moved to Colorado, mostly because I thought if we lived in a different place, we might hold our 25 year marriage together. Time and distance didn't solve the reasons it was falling apart, so I filed for divorce, and just before the holidays, it was final.
Viet Nam was still raging. Some of my sons were at far away Naval bases. With so little money, and Christmas so near, and food stamps stretching only so far, I felt like your parents must have. I didn't know how I would afford presents, or a chicken or small turkey, and fixings to make dressing with.
Back then the children and I went to a Catholic church, and I remembered it was announced at Mass, if we knew of families who needed help, to put their names in the offering plate. I was embarrassed to do it, but wanted something that seemed like Christmas for the children that year. So I wrote out my name and address, and slipped it in the collection plate. I thought maybe we would get a food basket.
A few days before Christmas, two people from the church showed up, and handed me a basket filled with nice foods, things you couldn't usually afford, and $25.00 worth of supermarket vouchers. Before leaving the church people paused a moment, and said they had something else to give me. The priest knew I was going to school part time after work, so when he learned we needed help, he sent along a one hundred dollar check from the church, to encourage me, he said.
The childen grew up, not without bumps and struggles, but they all graduated from high school. When we talk about those years, it's not the being poor that we remember. It's knowing someone cared enough to help that Christmas. Someone cared enough to give us hope.
