“It just hung there. Its message to me was more than “Merry Christmas,” she said as she wiped away a tear.
It’s that time again when we begin to drag the decorations out of the closets and attics.
“Just one more time. Next year I’m not going to fuss as much. Christmas is for kids you know,” she said every year for the past five years. Ever since her youngest child moved out of the house.
“Bob, I know you believe that God is in all things. But does He take time to touch a heart that’s aching? Would He bother to send a message to me to change my mind?” She asked.
“It is no bother at all for Him to lift a burden. He is in all things and yes He would do whatever it takes to comfort you. Why, what happened?” I asked.
“I was bemoaning the fact that my children are no longer living in the house. Every year I swear I’m not going to decorate like we always did. But they expect it when they come home to visit. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without your special touch,” they tell me.
I walked up into the attic yesterday and sat in the corner where all of the items are stored. We must have twenty boxes filled with decorations. I went from thinking that I’ll only decorate the living room, to just doing the outside lights and our tree.
I don’t know what it was. I just didn’t have it in me this year,” she said.
You must know Linda to appreciate this.
She never does anything small. Her holidays are always exquisite. The decorations are like something out of a magazine. Her Thanksgiving Day dinner would make Norman Rockwell proud.
But this is a time of transition for her. It’s a time we all go through when what was, is no longer a reality.
She wants things to be the way they always were before. As if one can freeze a moment in time and live there forever.
“Believe it or not, Bob, I decided this year to cut back. I sat in that corner and came to a decision. I said, Well kids that’s it. That’s the way it’s gonna be. Merry Christmas!” She stopped and looked at me just staring.
“What? What happened?” I asked.
Linda’s eyes started to fill up with tears. She tilted her head and looked at me. Pausing to gain some composure, she turned away and placed her hands on her face.
“Linda. What’s wrong?”
“Did He do this? Did He make me remember my commitment?” She asked.
Having no idea what she was talking about, I never replied. She was not asking me these questions. She was trying to convince herself. For she knew the answers already.
“I grabbed the first box and opened it. In it were our table cloths and candles for dinner and parties. I reached toward the rear of the pile in search of the box that held the living room decorations. I decided that I would just decorate there this year.
Upon opening it I found the children’s stockings. Yes, we all still hang up our stockings.
Then at the bottom of the box was mine. I’ve had the same one since I was a kid. With a deep sigh I pulled it out of the box. And there it was. I have no idea how it got there.
Dangling from the top of the stocking was an ornament. Not any ornament. But one that was signed and dated. One I created with my Mom in 1958. Through the years it has lost some of it’s glitter. But the message remained as clear as if we wrote it yesterday.
I had asked her what was her best Christmas ever. She said, “The next one!”
So we wrote in glitter and glue “Christmas 1959” It would have been the next one.
Bob, she died in June of that year. Daddy refused to decorate for the holidays. There was an emptiness not only in his heart, but in our home. I had to go to my friends house to find Christmas.
So every year since then I decorated the house to capacity. Until this year. I was going to stop.”
“So what do you think. Was it simply by chance that ornament appeared?” I asked her.
“I don’t think so. I believe God was reminding me of my commitment. I’ve decided to go all out this year and decorate the world,” she said.
“I hope we’re invited to this one. I think it’s going to be your best Christmas ever,” I said.
Then grabbing my arm and smiling she said, “Just wait. Wait until you see…the next one!”
Bob Perks 2believe@comcast.net