Lately my days have been filled with recipes and nutrition research working on my gastric bypass cookbook. I've also been printing and hanging some of my latest photography here at home. It's an interesting process that requires several key elements I don't, personally, possess. Things like concentration, time and a degree in nutrition.
Dictionary.com says that concentration is "The act or process of concentrating, especially the fixing of close, undivided attention." Uh, close, undivided attention??? I have three kids! Who do these people think I am? Within the span of fifteen minutes I can look up the nutrition information for a recipe for stuffed cabbage rolls, listen to one daughter expound on the latest music video by Eminem, get a phone call from Jackie's father about how to work the remote for their new DVD player, explain to another daughter that she needs to figure out for herself how to beat the dragon tunnel on her video game and then try to write comments on the recipe program I use while the oldest daughter complains that her hair color doesn't match the one on the box.
Yeah, it's a little slice of organized bedlam. Now it's punctuated with the sound of angels singing next to the nine year old, the nineteen year old's kitten knocking over our little fiber-optic Christmas tree and the thirteen year old giggling with her best friend while they cut pictures out of magazines to make holiday collages. I look around and feel the miracles of the season in everything and I'm so grateful. It reminds me of seasons past and some of the life lessons that I learned.
Let me tell you about one holiday season that I'll never forget. Grab a tissue and pull up a chair.
It was just before thanksgiving and I was about sixteen. My family had changed, dramatically, over the previous couple of years. We lived in a house in Santa Ana, CA and we were in the worst financial position that we'd ever been in. A few years before my father had an accident, following hip surgery, that paralyzed him from the waist down. He was let go from his job and hadn't been able to find work since. We'd already used up the money from the disability settlement that he'd received and my twin brother and I found full-time jobs at the age of thirteen to try and help supplement our income. My mother was working nights in the cafeteria of a local hospital for minimum wage. We didn't know where the money to buy our next meal was coming from, let alone what was needed to buy the obligatory Thanksgiving feast and, later, Christmas presents. We didn't talk about it but all of us felt the sadness and went about our daily routines like robots.
My brother and I had gone to school early one morning, as usual, because we had band practice. Normally, we worked after school but that day neither one of us was scheduled so we drove straight home. What we came home to was a picture that I'll never forget. Parked in our driveway at the end of the cul-de-sac that we lived on was a large flatbed truck. Three men were busy unloading boxes from the back and shouting orders to one another. At first, my brother and I were sure that they were there there because we were being evicted from our home. We both knew that we were behind on the mortgage payments and were expecting to get, at least, a notice in the mail like we'd received before. We quickly parked the car on the street and rushed inside.
Sitting in the midst of a mountain of boxes was my mother crying... almost hysterical.
"What's going on?!?!" I demanded of my mother and the gentleman kneeling on the ground next to where she sat. My mother motioned that it was all right and waved us to the chairs on the other side of our dining room table. It was then that I realized that the boxes they were bringing in weren't empty but completely full. One of the gentlemen dropped another box on the pile, smiled, clapped me on the back and headed back out to the truck. All I could do was stand there with my jaw hanging.
"I'm Assistant Pastor Dave from Calvary Chapel." I snapped my head around and stared into the face of the man who had been kneeling next to my mother. Finally, recognition dawned. I'd seen this man lead prayers and services when our head pastor at the church we attended was travelling. He smiled and extended his hand. I pumped it and tried to smile.
"We got word that your family was having some trouble and needed a little help. We're here to help."
My mother stopped crying and came over with her arms spread wide. She wrapped them around my brother and me and sniffled while she hugged us. When she pulled back her eyes, still glistening and red, were beaming like the midday sun. She smiled and wiped her nose.
"It's so wonderful." She said, "These men just showed up here ten minutes ago and started unloading boxes full of food and presents for Christmas. They've even given us a check to catch up our house payments. It's a miracle."
Tears started streaming down her face again as she showed my brother and me the contents of the mountain of boxes now lining our little dining room. There were three huge, frozen turkeys, cans of vegetables and fruits, boxes of stuffing, packages of pasta, soup and sauces a plenty. There were also dozens of brightly wrapped packages trimmed in ribbons and bows ready to be put under the Christmas tree and trimmings that we had decided several days before wouldn't be put up that year.
The men from our church all smiled and hugged us wishing us all a happy holidays and God's blessing as they left. The rest of the day was spent trying to find places to put all of the wonderful gifts they'd left behind. My father came home that evening from a day of looking for work to a house full of food, teary smiles and laughter.
That holiday season we dressed the house up with all the trimmings a little early and ate like royalty for a month. I was grateful for every turkey sandwich I took to school and work. I spent many of my meals, away from home, smiling quietly and saying a lot of thankful prayers. Every year, starting with Thanksgiving and on through Christmas, I am reminded of that year when we thought we would have nothing and ended up with far more than our share.
This year, as I look around at the beautiful faces of my new family and remember that time, I'm even more grateful. We're struggling but still blessed beyond measure. We have food in our kitchen, gifts waiting to be opened (even though they've already been inspected) and enough to share with family and friends. It's one of the reasons that I torture everyone with Christmas music starting the day after Thanksgiving and all the way through New Year's Day. The holiday season hasn't always been so filled with blessings but through every trial and tribulation I've remembered those days when I was sixteen and it gives me the courage to have faith and keep going.
This year I encourage all of you to give generously to those you meet, every day, that may just need a smile and a kind word. If you can do more, great. If not, terrific. Gifts from the heart make the biggest difference in the lives we come in contact with.
I'll be writing a holiday top ten next time. For now, God bless you all and Happy Holidays!!!
