When JOY and Sorrow Mingle…
As I’ve been preparing for Christmas 2020, my thoughts have turned often to my mom who died this past September. I can recall only one Christmas season in my lifetime when I did not spend at least a portion of it with my mother. That year was spent with friends in Rhode Island where I lived and worked while my young husband was serving in Viet Nam. It was a bleak Christmas day!
Christmas was important to Mom. During her childhood, when the Great Depression raged, Christmas day was like any other in her family. Probably because of their own family histories, coupled with worry and exhaustion from simply trying to provide the bare minimums, my grandparents didn’t celebrate.
My parents made sure that wasn’t the case in our family. Christmas during my childhood meant a special new dress and shoes; Sunday School Christmas pageants; a beautifully decorated tree; singing Christmas songs; and reading Christmas stories. Oh, and LOTS of presents under the tree, which always included a new doll for my younger sister and me.
Mom made certain the birth of Jesus was front and center of our family Christmas. She minimized Santa Clause but allowed us to enjoy the fun of St. Nick, symbolic of Christmas giving. We wrote letters to Santa and eagerly awaited hearing ours read on our small hometown radio station. One of my current family’s yearly decorations includes a beloved but rather bedraggled Santa—a remnant of Christmas decorations from my childhood home.
Mom made Christmas meaningful and magical.
After her four kids were grown, my mother and aunt spent many months working on elaborate nativity sets at a local ceramic shop. When she died, my two sisters and I divided Mom’s set. I took the three wisemen and their camels, which are displayed on our fireplace mantle. They will always be given a special place of honor in our home and will be a warm reminder of the JOY Mom brought to Christmas.
During their mid-life and early senior years, my parents resided in a small town in Northeastern Washington. Dad lived his dream of owning a grocery store, and Mom sacrificed and assisted in many ways. The store prospered beyond their expectations. Those were wonderful years in my parents’ lives.
Following Mom’s death, we received a letter from a couple who had been the pastors of the tiny church my parents attended during those years. The entire letter touched me deeply, but this paragraph especially filled my heart with JOY:
“I remember one Christmas I didn’t think we’d have gifts for our two children. We went out and cut down our tree and put it up. There was nothing under it. Kathryn [my mom] stopped by just before Christmas, and I’m sure she saw it because several days later she came over and said, “Here’s a few things to put under your tree.” The day before Christmas I counted the gifts for the children, and they each had 14! I will never forget how much that meant to all of us.”
Yeah, I’m feeling a bit of sorrow this Christmas. Losing a loved one is never easy, and holidays tend to exacerbate one’s grief. But as I reflect on Christmases past and this lovely story I’d never heard from a young pastor’s wife, I can assure you the JOY I feel is much greater than the sorrow with which it mingles.
