Strange Christmas

Instead of a gift exchange this year on my Mom's side of the family, I was asked to share a Christmas memory. It was hard to think of one particular incident or moment, so this is what I came up with, and I thought I would share it here too. Merry Christmas!

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Strange Christmas

Strange. Strange to think of Christmas, 37 years ago. I wasn’t born yet, and a young couple, some probably said too young, were four days married. He was tall and skinny and blonde with sad, serious eyes, or at least that’s how they look in those old pictures… and she was only 18 (18! And married! Can you imagine?), pretty, with bright brown eyes, eyes that look like my own… and maybe on that first Christmas as a real, married couple… maybe they looked into each other’s eyes, and maybe they hoped and dreamed and whispered to each other long past midnight about how right this was, about the future stretched out before them like an open road, and about Christmases to come.

Strange. Strange to think of Christmas, 32 years ago. A Christmas I don’t remember, but some of you do. A growing family, now growing more every year. And I was probably passed around from lap to lap, held gently to your chests… and maybe you oohed and aahed over how big I was getting. And maybe you hoped and dreamed and whispered to each other about how happy this was, about the future stretched out before us like an open road, and about Christmases to come.

Strange. Strange to think of Christmas, 30 years ago. My brother (A new baby brother! And so precious and tiny! Can you imagine?) was maybe just beginning to turn the corner after two months of fighting to stay alive. And together you prayed and you cried, and there were sleepless nights to be sure for that tall blonde boy who was looking more and more like a man, and that pretty bright-brown eyed young woman who had the baby early, so early – so scared. But that tiny heart kept beating and those tiny lungs kept taking in air… and our prayers felt tiny, so tiny in the scope of something so big as a baby so small, but we lifted them up anyway because sometimes prayers are all you can really give, even at Christmas. And you hoped and dreamed and whispered to each other the things you were afraid to say out loud about how scary this was, about the future stretched out before us like an open road, and about Christmases to come.

Strange. Strange to think of Christmas 25 years ago, or somewhere around there. The living room almost felt too crowded now, and those fire engine hats! The ones that made such an infernal racket as the sirens wailed and bounced off the walls that year. And yes, they gave you a headache, but you knew – you knew even then that this was the good stuff, the stuff of memories, that this was a big, messy smear of the glue of life that bonds us to each other with the word “family.” And you hoped and dreamed and whispered to each other that this – even this, as loud and intolerable as it seemed – that this would last, and you smiled about how silly it was, about the future stretched out before us like an open road, and about Christmases to come.

Strange. Strange to think of that first Christmas without Grandpa John in the dark-brown rocking chair, that first Christmas when there was one less lap to sit on. I was still very young, and my memories of him are not as good as I wish they were. But I remember sparkling eyes and a kind of mischievous smile, and Osh Kosh overalls. And maybe he is why sometimes the smell of cigarettes is comforting to me, but also why hearing a ragged cough scares me so much, and why I still love toys that make a lot of noise. I wonder what that Christmas was like for Grandma Mary, and for Jen, Linda, Verla and Marlys. I can’t imagine how that felt. How uncertain that was. And the future stretched out before us like an open road, and there would be Christmases to come.

Strange. Strange to think of Christmas five years ago. To think of Alecia, and the twins were coming any day now, and the idea of me being an aunt and what that meant. (An aunt! Can you imagine? Well, many of you can, actually.) To think that the tiny baby boy with the tiny, strong heart was about to become a father to twins. I am so incredibly proud of the man he has become. And I think of them, and how maybe like that other couple so many years earlier, maybe they too hoped and dreamed and whispered to each other long past midnight about how right this was, about the future stretched out before us like an open road, and about Christmases to come.

Strange. Strange to think of Christmas one year ago. To think of what I wanted so badly then, and all the things I thought I knew that turned out not to be true… but that’s a story for another day. To think of the blizzard bearing down on vast swaths of the continent, and of unexpected kindness, and the mad rush to drive 500 miles back to Minot before the snow came. It was supposed to be my first Christmas working in ministry. My sermon was already done. I never got to preach it…. Oh well. I think about those three days as the snow came down and came down and came down. Drifts as high as your head. One for the record books. I think about spending time with my parents and my brother and sister-in-law, and my nieces and my nephew, and how if  you have to be stuck inside for more than 3 days it’s at least good to be stuck with people you love. And I wonder what those children hope and dream and whisper to each other about, and I wonder about the future stretched out before us like an open road, and about Christmases to come.

Strange. Strange to think of next Christmas. I don’t know where I’ll be living, but I have some hopes. I don’t know who I’ll be celebrating with, but I have some dreams. I don’t know a lot of things… but I whisper prayers. And I try to remember that things usually, in the end, turn out better than I could have ever hoped, dreamed, or planned.

I try to remember that, but I forget it all the time.

Let us hope. Let us dream. Let us whisper together on this silent, holy night. The future is stretched out before us like an open road. There will be Christmases and Christmases and Christmases to come.

Comments

[Lisa]

What a beautiful gift for your Christmas exchange! Throughout your post, I simultaneously read your words about your family but imagined my own family as we gathered at the Cotten Trail Restaurant in Coleharbour, ND, in the 70s to honour my dad's Grandma Schlenker by summoning her family at Christmas-time. A scary, frail woman who I couldn't even talk to because I didn't speak a word of German (nor she, English). And then the parallel of my young parents who lost one of their unexpected twins, born too soon, on their first wedding anniversary, my dad not yet out of seminary. And then, too, there was the Christmas blizzard of 2009, trying to make a good decision of whether or not to travel that same 500 mile trek to Minot to witness my 3-week old grandson's first Christmas. And finally the much-needed reminder of hope and dreams of the future not knowing where I will be due to a recent job loss and the surety of Christmases and Christmases to come. My stumbling on your blog today is a timely discovery -- a much needed gift. Thank you.

Sincerely,
Lisa (Davick) Sartwell

[Jacquelin]

Thank you for taking the time to read, Lisa! It is a blessing to know that my words can bring light to someone who needs it.