An Unexpected Gift

Throughout our 21 years of marriage, Tom and I, along with our extended family members, have built many traditions around Christmas. These traditions are probably similar to those that most families associate with the holidays, and they’re comforting in their ritual, steadfast in their execution. As our children have grown, we’ve delighted in carrying out these traditions, and watching the kids embrace them into their hearts. Every year, whenever someone would ask what our plans were for Christmas, I’d have the speech down cold: we’d go to mass as a family on Christmas Eve, head over to Tom’s parent’s home for Swedish meatballs, the rosary and gifts, and be home in time for Santa to appear in the darkness as the kids watched from the banister above; Christmas morning would bring presents under our tree, and then we’d head over to my parent’s house for presents, games and dinner. As we approached our traditions this year, our schedule was quite off. So off, in fact, that I feared being shaken and perhaps a tad bit traumatized by the inconsistencies that we were going to encounter. Most of all, I feared that I wouldn’t get to experience the “true Christmas” I’ve come to expect. Since Kenzie had to work the weekend shift at the nursing home, she wouldn’t be able to attend Christmas Eve mass or dinner at Tom’s folks’, and wouldn’t be able to spend the afternoon at my parent’s house on Christmas Day. So, we regrouped. And, as un-usual as the weekend shaped up to be, it was a beautiful one. An unexpected gift.

We went to a different mass at a different place. We said the rosary without Kenzie, but she felt its power and missed being there for it. Tom dressed up as Santa and greeted her at the door at 11 p.m. when she walked in after her 8-hour shift. The four of us plopped on the couch and giggled about how many times they saw Santa as young kids while Dad was "sleeping". During the day, we had time to take walks with the dogs and have extra family time. We moved our Christmas Day to the 26th, and reveled in the 3-day celebration that we normally wouldn't have had. 

My Mom always says, “I’m nothing if I’m not flexible”, and I’ve started to take this mantra on myself. As our children grow and become the adults we’re raising them to be, we must learn to embrace the traditions we’ve created, yet remain flexible with our time. And it is in this flexibility that we enjoyed a Christmas I’ll remember for a long time – and not because of any material gift I received, but because of the gift of the joy of the unexpected.     

Quit whining, already!

Yesterday morning we woke up to six inches of snow on the ground and bitter-cold temperatures. On any normal Thursday morning, this would have been okay with me. I have the luxury of working from home, so my normal routine would include getting myself a cup of coffee, spending a little time with my bible, and settling into my comfy office chair in front of my computer for the day . . . occasionally glancing out my window from my toasty-warm quarters. But, yesterday was unlike a typical Thursday. Our family was scheduled to spend the day helping out at the Sister Carmen Community Center in Lafayette, a tradition we began with Tom’s side of the family a few years ago when we wanted a more meaningful way to express ourselves during Christmas. On this very uncomfortably cold day, I dreaded bundling up and heading out. I whined to Tom that there probably wouldn’t be many people showing up at the center because of the difficult driving conditions, and I said that maybe we should have thought about scheduling it for another day after hearing about the impending snow storm. I secretly hoped that we’d get a call saying that the center was going to be closed for the day so that we could reschedule on a more pleasant day. Shame on me, I know! We got the call that the center was open, so we bundled up in layers, not knowing what to expect, and headed out as a family. I was immediately impressed by the operation. It is a very large facility with amazing staff members who kindly showed us around (all 24 of us!) and explained their wonderful programs – not only for food distribution, but education and safe house help. My cold heart began to thaw a bit. We were asked to split up into groups and tackle different projects before the people started coming in. Kenzie, Taylor and I went over to the waiting area and began sweeping and cleaning the area filled with toys and activities for kids to occupy their time while their parents “shopped” at the food bank. In the middle of my sweeping job, one of the staff members asked if I wouldn’t mind working at the front desk answering phones. Sounded warm and fun, so of course I obliged. Throughout the day, as I answered the calls that came in, my greeting, “Good morning, Sister Carmen Center, may I help you?” was answered with sometimes desperate pleas. One woman called saying that she needed help with rent. Another called and told the story of her husband getting laid off, saying that they had no food in the house and was wondering if the center could help. Still another called confirming her appointment with the Safe House counselor. With each call, I felt horribly ashamed for my whiny attitude earlier that day. And the calls continued. Many other volunteers called in asking if we needed more help that day . . . it wasn’t normally their day to come in, but they wanted to see if they could come in . . . despite the road conditions and cold temperatures. The final call melted my heart to the core. A woman called in asking if the center could provide her some food. I was supposed to ask each caller where they resided so that I could determine if we were the right center location-wise, or if they needed to contact a center that served their area. So, I asked the question, “where do you live?” After a brief silence on the other end, the woman replied that she was homeless, and found herself between the Louisville and Lafayette areas most of the time. My heart went up into my throat, and I assured her that she should come in right away and get some food. One of the other volunteers there told me that the center could most likely help her with shelter as well. When we hung up, I flashed back to my cozy office space back at home, the freedom I have to crank up the heat or flick on the fire whenever I was chilly, choose from a closet full of clothes every day, make a cup of cocoa or grab a snack whenever I was hungry, take a bubble bath at a moment’s notice. Oh, how good I have it. I’m grateful for all of those good things, but it wasn’t until I contrasted it with this poor woman’s plight, that I was deeply grateful for it, and quite humbled. Next time I find myself whining about the inconveniences that show up in my life, I’ll remember this woman, and so many more like her, who have nothing. Thank you to all of the wonderful people at the Sister Carmen Community Center, who through your tireless work, compassion, and love, give these people a helping hand. This Christmas, I’ll count my blessings, even amidst the minor inconveniences and trials of my most wonderful life.

Getting Through the Brick Wall

December 14, 2011 – When is the last time I sat down to write? Early November? Where have the weeks gone? Seems I’ve been caught up in a time of transition. These things happen to me periodically. I get to a brick wall that seems insurmountable and I feel like I’m in a battle to find my way to the other side, beyond the wall, to a place where I know who I am, what I want to do, and how I’m going to live my life to serve God. So, the battle began about 6 weeks ago, I suppose. I tried to scale up the brick wall. Hard to do. The surface is flat with no foot-holds to secure my climb. I move over to a different part of the wall to see if I can leverage anything on that side that will help me make my way up. No luck. Maybe if I tunnel under the wall! Oh, but that wall’s foundation is deep. I use my little shovel and furiously dig, dig, dig to find an opening to tunnel my way to the other side to no avail. Perhaps I should go around the wall! I go to the left, but end up walking for miles in that direction and find no end to it. The road to the right finds me in the same precarious position. No way around this one.  If I can’t go over it, under it, or around it, I suddenly realize that in order to break through the barrier of my brick wall, I must go through it. I chip away at the wall, bit by bit, rediscovering the person I am, the person I’ve become, the plan God has for me. I realize that all this climbing, digging and walking around the brick wall was to no avail because in order to come through on the other side, one must find their own truth and persevere through the unknown.  As I chisel through the wall, I wonder, how thick is it? When will the light begin to peek through so I’m back on track and can see my path again? All I know for sure is that it’s the hard work, perseverance, and faith in the light on the other side that makes it all worth it. Wait! Is that a light I see?