Christmas, Where Did You Go?

Searching the department store for summer markdowns, I cut down an aisle and slammed into a fully decorated holiday tree. Thankfully catching a delicate ornament, I wondered why the pageantry …. fall had barely begun and the turkey hadn’t even been given a thought. Now I was considering the grandest day of the year. Yes, December 25th, a day full of wonderment and expectation. With these thoughts generally came the anticipation of eating special meals and sharing gifts with family and friends as well as attending heartening Christmas services. But not today. Instead my stomach was queasy and my heart ached.

O, Christmas where did you go?

Why was I so depressed? It was because this year had been full of challenges. Having graduated college, I had to quickly find employment, a new apartment and a roommate. I also had a gas-guzzling jalopy of a car and a refrigerator boasting empty shelves. Such life strategizing fell flimsily into place, causing me major headaches. I was scared. I was so stretched that any unforeseen expense could nudge me to the tipping point right over the cliff—into the abyss.

Then it happened. I lost my job and my roommate decided to move home. The car wouldn’t start and the heating system in the apartment shut down. Coughing and sneezing, I reached for the tissues. Muscle cramps everywhere kept me seated in a favorite recliner. Although I wasn’t hungry, I still needed to eat. But the shelves were pretty bare. I considered combining the leftovers from the fridge. Maybe some old soup was hiding behind the eggs.

My eyes grew heavy as I wrapped the fleece coverlet around me. In a dreamy haze, I found myself walking to the market to buy chicken noodle soup where the pomp and circumstance of the holiday was in full bloom. There were carolers in the plaza. The Salvation Army bell was ringing and ringing. Avoiding both, I hustled into the store where holiday bounty met my every move with gift-wrapped candy, toys, and holiday food of every kind, from every nationality. Even with a stuffy nose, I caught whiffs of baking breads and pies.

I couldn’t get back to the apartment fast enough, bumping into shoppers, tripping over curbs. Suddenly I shook the blanket off … where was I? Feeling my forehead, I was burning hot with fever. Gazing around, I realized I was still in my living room, still with no heat and even worse, still no chicken soup. So this would be Christmas, broke and sick. Should I laugh or cry? Neither. Instead I bent over and picked up a book off the coffee table. No, not the mystery from the library, but a pocket size edition of the Bible. Turning the pages, I read the Nativity story. In moments, I dozed off.

Again traveling right into dreamland.

I was seated in a comfortable chair in a very busy office. Working. Working. Working. Although a high-end executive, I wasn’t getting anywhere. Then the company closed. I was evicted from a spacious apartment and had to rent a dumpy room. Car payments faltered and one day a huge truck showed up and hauled it away. I ate lots of cheese and crackers and began to consider the soup kitchen. But I figured that was a place for people to go who didn’t have jobs. Friends even left my company because my tales of woe made them fear they might end up like me.

In the next moment, I was overcome by an intense fever and lying on a blanket in a dark prison cell. I kept calling for help. No one answered. I climbed up the cement wall to the steel-barred window. It was nailed shut. I yelled again. Still no answer. Then slipping unto the floor, I opened a book with gold trimmed pages.

Pounding. Pounding. Pounding. I sat straight up and looked at the front door. Was I still dreaming or was someone here? Then came a voice, a familiar one. Rubbing my eyes, I unlatched the deadbolts. There stood my Aunt and Uncle whom I hadn’t seen in a very long time. They were both bearing gifts of heavily filled brown bags. The bags were stuffed with lots of food—fresh, wholesome food and holiday sweets.

And yes, homemade chicken soup.

How did they know I was sick?

After they left, I sat and savored hot soup. The the door mail slot opened and a single letter came flying through. Catching it before it hit the floor; I slipped a fingernail through and tore it open. Inside was a bank money order written for a goodly amount. Curiosity was over the top. Shakily I fingered the long check upwards and sideways, even turning it over. Clearly it was written to me. But there was no return address. And because of an illegible signature, there was no hint as to the sender.

How did they know I was needy?

My head spun, dizzy with disbelief. Could this really be happening? The door urged again, this time with a gentle rap followed by the quick shuffling of feet. I hobbled best I could and threw open the door. No one was there. Looking down was a Christmas card attached to a plate of just baked peanut butter blossoms. My favorite, how did they know? The card was simply signed, a neighbor. So many blessings in so little time. How could this be? My heart felt light as I smiled. These were signs of God’s goodness right at my doorway—evidence that others did care about me.

“O, Christmas, where did you go,” I asked aloud. Then I laughed. Christmas hadn’t gone anywhere. It had been there all along, just cast aside by fear and miserable thoughts. The spirit of Christmas was nudging me to respond in a kind of redemptive moment. To yield. There was still time, time to renew and celebrate this season and do what I could. Things would be different this year . . . and the next, and in many ways even better. Three different visitors had yielded of themselves to help me embrace the glad tidings of the holiday. They had brought Christmas to my doorstep and to my heart.

I would do the same.

Post script

The next year I fashioned homemade ornaments, cookies and original Christmas cards and gifted family, friends and neighbors. I have being blessed to have sent thousands of

cards over the span of some forty years. These are just small blessings to share Christmas’ glad tidings.

This tradition continues on ….

… and that’s how I live it.