Monday, December 25, 2006

Dearest God,

The man in the manger has changed my life. I sought life during Advent. I hoped for illuminating light. I looked for signs and sounds. The man in the manger gave me everything I longed for.

It was after midnight on Christmas Eve before I fell into bed. I wished my husband the first greeting of Christmas. There we parted. My granddaughter from Michigan had earlier prepared a sleeping bag on the living room floor. She slept next to it. I snuggled into my makeshift bed, receiving it as a gift.

The morning came six hours later when I quietly wiggled out of my bag to write. Filled to the brim with Christmas Eve I needed to release my feelings and emotions. I began typing when just a few minutes later my five year old grandchild walked sheepishly into the basement. Sleepy, she climbed onto my lap. I held her, stroking her hair, no words spoken between us. She wakes up slowly so I wait until she is ready for the day. Finally, "Grandma...can we open presents?"

The rest of the household was sound asleep so I urged her to wait, watching a Christmas show while I finished my letter. Soon we ascended the stairs together. I turned on the Frosty mantle and the lights on the Christmas tree. I lighted the Yankee cedar and something candle. Then we sat down on the couch. I tucked my wine colored afghan around her small frame.

We counted Frosties while we waited. I told her about a baby born in a stable and the joy of shepherds sneaking in for a peek of the new king. I sang Christmas carols. I held her close as we watched the new day dawn.

It wasn't long before her baby sister awakened, bringing new sound into the room. The rest of the family soon joined us. We sat in a circle, the lights twinkling, the candle sending its aroma wafting. We did what we always do; we began by talking about the birth story. Then one by one starting with the children, we shared the most important things we are grateful for, the gifts of 2006. The six year old was appreciative of her family, of being at grandma's house. My daughters and their husbands were thankful for their spouses, family and faith. Harold shared his delight in the family and the new church facility just around the corner, a church where he shared 18 years of ministry. With a cracking voice I expressed my gratitude for increasingly better health, for a letter from my daughter, for letters I had written when God lead me, for my writing. We ended in prayer as my granddaughters helped me pass out one gift at a time, our tradition, watching a person open a gift, then clapping in appreciation.

We called December 25 the "Day of No Food." My husband was in charge of meals. We were out of food, mostly and I had told him on Christmas Eve that he needed to go to the store. But he was certain some store would be open later. Later did not produce food. We did, however, have pancake mix, milk and eggs so we had blueberry pancakes for breakfast. Lunch would not materialize on its own. We all laughed many times. Out of it my youngest daughter "borrowed" food from her in-laws: appetizers, scallops, filet mignon wrapped in bacon, crab ragoon. From her own home Jill raided the pantry: frozen chicken and vegetables. The mashed potatoes came from our own kitchen along with three day old cranberry sauce, tired cauliflower and even older "retired" cottage cheese. It tasted pretty good and it was all great for a good laugh.

At 5:00 p.m. a son in law and daughter turned on a football game. The girls and I went into the bedroom to watch a new movie entitled, The Christmas Shoes. A young boy works to earn money to buy his dying mother shoes for heaven. My five and six year olds kept asking, "is she going to die?" "Yes, but see how much the little boy loves his mother?" We agreed the red shoes were beautiful and we were sad she was dying. But it was what followed that surprised me.

One of the granddaughters began to cry, not because of the show but because of an incident at school. She had gotten into trouble for doing something a friend "forced" her to do and she had lost her recess privilege. That lead to a discussion on the lack of friends and never winning at "Duck, Duck, Goose." She is a whiz at math and reading but sports is not her thing. "I never win and the kids never pick me for their team." "If your friend tells you to do something you're not supposed to do, tell the teacher." My other granddaughter shared wisdom. I hugged that little girl while she cried.

After checking to see if the new Baby Alive had pooped her first poop, (what will they think of next?) we made our beds in the living room. In minutes the household was "snuggled in their beds, visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads..."

The day had been a mixture of gratitude, laughter and total and utter destruction of my clean house. It had been another beautiful day of Christmas with persons so dear to my heart. Prayer was still on my lips as memories of the day lulled me to sleep.

Some days
I realize the limits
of human language
to express gratitude.
This Advent
was far more
than I had hoped for.
Everyday blessings
came my way.
The sights and sounds,
the scenes of Christ
were all about me.
Like Scrooge
who witnesses his past life,
I see all the miracles,
the wondrous events,
the visions
of God in human living.
I know love,
the agape kind.
I have seen Jesus,
the man
who didn't linger long
in the manger.
Rather I have witnessed
his movement
all about me.
I pray
for the light of his life
to shine through me
into the new year.
Gratitude fills my pores.

Love always, Andrea