Once a Child

The Savior Who in glory reigns

Who rules the earth and sea,

Whose arms unnumbered worlds sustains

Was once a child like me.

  

       

This Christmas will be different. 

You will not be home.

There will be celebration. There will be family. There will be merry-making and laughter and joy, but you will be missed. In and through the festivities, my mother-heart will go to you, sometimes, and I will reflect on more than two decades of memories. They  will parade through my mind and I will miss you.

 

     

I will see you swathed in cast-off shawls with your eyes radiating wonder as you cradle the baby and lay Him in a make-shift manger. I will hear the strains of those favorite Christmas carols that you learned to plunk out on the piano. I will picture black velvet dresses, French-braided hair and bigger-than-big lacey hair bows. I will  remember the dozens of buckeyes we tucked into tins, the stack of books we snuggled up with each year, the mugs of hot chocolate and cookies consumed by the fire. (The Santa Claus mugs do not go in the dishwasher, by the way.) Stringing popcorn, wrapping hand-made creations, watching traditonal classic (and not so classic) movies were part of the picture . I will see your rosey cheeks at the door with the carolers, hear your glee at a new puppy, feel your hugs. In my mind's eye, I will be almost certain I can spy you on the stairway on Christmas morning peeking through your siblings with excited anticipation. Will you laugh, too, as you think of the year the horses came to Christmas eve dinner, or the time we lit your sister on fire with the Happy-Birthday-to-Jesus candles, or the tree that was horizontal when we got home from church? Remember how the boys dunked their cookies in frosting to finish the project, while we endlessly  applied sprinkles and embellishments?  Our Advent wreath and the melancholy strains of "O Come O Come Immanuel" on Sunday mornings. The Christmas tree china. The manger scene with an anachronism of stuffed animals and random wood toys gathered round. These are our remembrances.

                                    

You will carry them with you, too. You will not be home this Christmas. I will miss you, but it is right. It is good. All is well.  You bear the spirit of Christmas. It lives on through your smile,  your hugs, your laughter, your creativity, your kindness, your countenance  because Jesus lives in you. It is in the love of the Christ-Child and gratefulness for our Lord and Savior, the One whom we celebrate, that we offer back to Him you, our loan for a little while. Carry the light, precious child. Shine on.

Blessings and love this Christmas and always

mother

                                  

There will be less someday--

Much less

And there will be More.

Less to distract

And amuse,

More to adore.

Less to burden

And confuse.

More to undo

The cluttering of centuries,

That we might view

Again, that which star 

And angels pointed to.

We shall be poorer--

And richer;

Stripped--and free.

For always there will be a 

Gift.

Always

A Tree.