I was
there when my Grandma died twenty years ago on November 19, a dull and drizzIy
day. I remember sitting on a windowsill
in the family room on her floor and watching umbrellas scurry along the
sidewalk below. I remember playing
Rummikub with Uncle Dave. Mostly I
remember waiting, and the sudden, shrill beeping of the machines. I remember touching my Grandma’s puffy hand,
and Mom and Aunt Carlene crying and hugging.
The
day of Grandma’s funeral was even colder than the day she died. I wore my purple skirt and lavender blouse and carried a sweaty wad of
KIeenex in my hand. I remember watching
Great Aunt Marge sobbing and swaying in the pew in front of us and wishing that
she would stop.
My
Grandma missed Thanksgiving. She did not
get to see me when I got my ears pierced for my tenth birthday several weeks
later. That Christmas our family
gathered at Uncle Ed and Aunt Carlene’s house instead of Grandpa and Grandma’s. Great Aunt Marge sent each of us eight
grandchildren a hand-written note and a $100 bill.
Grandpa
missed Grandma. I sat with him, Aunt Bubba,
and Uncle Dave one Sunday afternoon, way in the back of the church
sanctuary. When the sermon started Grandpa
pulled a poem out of his pocket. He
leaned forward and stared at the words on the paper for a long time, his elbows
on his knees. “I’m having my first
Christmas in Heaven! A glorious and
wonderful day! I’m standing with the
saints of the ages, who found Christ, the Truth and the Way…”
…………………………………………………………
What
are you counting on this Christmas? Does
your hope for the holiday season depend on decorating your home? The goodies you may or may not bake? Buying or crafting or receiving just the
right gift? On going home for Christmas,
or on who will or will not be coming home?
Peace on earth?
I
learned some things about Christmas the year that my Grandma died. I learned that you can’t count on a person or
persons to make your Christmas complete.
People die. Divorce. Move away.
I learned that no amount of material wealth can bring peace or joy to
one’s heart. As much as I enjoy giving
or receiving a thoughtful gift, I cannot remember what I bought with Great Aunt
Marge’s money, even though I’d never even seen a $100 bill before. I learned that with time, all traditions
change.
Grandpa
had it right, in the end. Heaven is the
hope of Christmas. Our hope for those
whom we love, and the hope of our own hearts, too. All of the distractions, disappointments, and
depression that can consume at this time of the year come as the result of
sin. The result of Adam’s sin. And your sin.
And mine. “The wages of sin is
death,” but praise God for the gift that He’s given to us, “eternal life
through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 6:23).
Is
heaven your hope this Christmas?
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