Difficult Seasons

It’s Christmas night, about 11:00, and I just sat down to do some thinking about the past few days.

They’ve been good.

But sometimes they’ve also been a little challenging.

We have a new puppy, and she doesn’t play well with others yet. I was stubborn, and refused to board her. I’ve paid for it. She’s now chewing on her toy Sara gave her. Actually, she’s chewing on the shell of the toy, as she has already gotten to the stuffing which I removed and threw away. But she doesn’t seem to care much.

Eloise and I have learned to answer the same question again and again as if it’s the first time it was asked. My mother-in-law is visiting for a few days, and her short-term memory problem is worsening. But she has had a great time playing with great grandchildren and being with family, and we’re thankful she’s here.

I think it adds so much to have four generations together for Christmas, as we did today with Reba and my dad being part of the celebration. Their traditions that they handed to us are a big part of how we celebrate the season.

Our daughter-in-law Kathy’s parents are also in town, and we’ve gotten to spend time with them last night as we had tamales and opened some gifts at our house and again today at lunch at Mark and Kathy’s as we opened more gifts.  It’s so good to share grandchildren with such fine people.

We’ve had wonderful food — some of it traditional in our family, and some new things which may become part of the our tradition. Sara made Alabama Fruit from her grandmother’s recipe, and Kathy made a corn casserole that’s become part of the tradition. Last night’s tamales was a first for us, but it’s a long-time Texas Christmas tradition, and likely one that will become a standard for us as well.

But with all of this good food has come lots of dishwashing and cleaning. Our last load just went in the dishwasher a little while ago. Good things come at a price.

I guess what I’ve been thinking about is that our Christmas this year is just a slice of life. It’s the joy of family being together sharing food and each other, but also the challenges that this life brings. Part of it’s fun, and part of it’s hassle, and part of it’s just plain work.

But as I think over the past few days, what I choose to dwell on are not the challenges, not the hassle, not the work. I choose to dwell on the smiles, the laughter, the joy seen on the faces. I’ve captured many of those digitally, even more through the camera of my mind. And I’ll replay them again and again in coming days.

I hope your memories of this Christmas are also ones of joy!

As I’ve gotten older, there are two gifts that mean more to me than all of the others: mercy and grace.

It’s not that I don’t dearly appreciate the gifts of having enough and good health and toys and meaningful things to do.

But having God, family, and friends love me in spite of me is truly the priceless gift. They know me for who I really am, and it’s still okay. That’s an amazing feeling.

I hope you know that kind of love this Christmas season.

Merry Christmas to you, and thanks for your gifts of mercy and grace!

As I walked out into the lobby, there on a table full of Christmas goodies was a big plate of fudge.

Suddenly I was flooded with memories of Christmases with similar plates filled with fudge and divinity.

Mom always fixed both. The fudge was relatively easy. The divinity was tricky. But for her, and I think for others of her generation, making candy was part of the extravagance of celebrating Christmas. My mother-in-law always seems to do the same. Maybe it came from growing up in the depression, where such things were luxuries, where meat was only part of a meal once a week. My wife and daughter-in-law from time to time continue the tradition.

I hadn’t realized that it’s been missing in recent years until I saw the plate. Mom’s been gone almost seven years, and Reba has been coming for Christmas at our house for the last several years, although she sometimes brings candy.

Maybe I need to see if I can whip up some fudge and/or divinity this year. Everyone will be here, and there are some new generations that need to experience having some homemade candy sitting around — and to hear stories about grandmothers and great grandmothers who showed extravagance through making homemade candy.

We had our annual Service of Remembrance yesterday afternoon.

A Service of Remembrance is something our church has done for lots of years on the Sunday before Christmas. It gives us an opportunity to come together and say out loud that there are dear people from our lives that are missing as we celebrate the holidays. Some of those we have lost died this year, and our pain is still intense. Some passed years ago, but there is still a hole in our hearts that can’t be filled.

The service itself is simple. We sing a few songs together, we listen to some other songs. We pray a prayer of remembrance together. We have responsive readings of scripture that emphasizes the hope we share. And the central part of the service is the lighting of the candle of remembrance, after which each person takes turns coming to the front of the chapel and naming the person or persons they’re remembering this year.

We recognize and remember that the reason for the season, the first coming of Jesus, provides the hope of our being reunited with those who have gone before.

After the service, we hang around, sharing some seasonal refreshments, some hugs, and some stories. We are bound together by our feelings of loss and hope.

It’s an emotional time, but amazingly healing. It’s an important time for many of us.

May you be blessed with wonderful memories, reassuring hope, and wonderful friends this Christmas season!

Young People Singing in M.D. Anderson Lobby

Visiting just one patient wasn’t why I went to the hospital this afternoon.  I went to visit six patients.

It wasn’t that I didn’t have enough time to visit six patients today, although sometimes situations arise where I can’t visit everyone on my list. But today wasn’t one of those days.

Today only one patient was available. The patients in the first two rooms had been released. The third person on the list was out of the room for a procedure. The fourth patient’s room was also vacant. I did get to say “Hi” to the fifth patient as he was being wheeled away for a test.

When I reached the sixth room, the patient was in! In fact, she, her husband, her son, and the nurse were apparently having a conversation about chaplains coming to visit. As I introduced myself, the nurse said, “See, I told you that we have people from all different groups that come!” I came as a representative of their faith tradition, and for many of us, that’s like having family show up. It was for them. It seemed like they had just been waiting my arrival.

As I got to know a little about them, the husband reached over and picked up a Bible. He wanted me to read the handwritten inscription signed by the elders of their home congregation. It was a message of honor and belonging. We talked about prayer, about moving from hopelessness by the physicians over her condition to hope that led to surgery with a hopeful report. We talked about the importance of faith in times like this. And we prayed about what was on her heart — getting well enough to be with family and church. Even so, it was a short visit — maybe 10 minutes total.

Later I was talking to a colleague who is much more experienced in hospital visitation than I, and he remarked about how unusual my day had been.

The day was unusual enough that I spent a little time reflecting on what I should take away from it. I decided it’s really just one thing. Numbers don’t matter. But being there to represent God and church does matter. A lot.