I Cried Three Times on Christmas Day
I Cried Three Times on Christmas Day
Family, friends, colleagues and fellow singers at Church, Children’s moment with our Pastor, comments heard in the pews…they all converged on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to produce the wonder of this blessed time of year.
OK, first. I am an unabashed fan of my wife, Mary. We met through music, and she continues to inspire me and awe me with her talent. Mary was a little nervous Christmas morning since she had been asked to sing a solo of “O Holy Night” at Church.
Besides its obvious beautiful melody and meaningful lyrics, this song has some history. Reportedly, it was the song sung by French and Prussian troops together on Christmas Eve during a brief suspension of fighting during their war of 1870. In different languages, of course.
Again, O Holy Night was sung on Christmas Eve by French and German enemies during the first World War – a brief respite in the horrendous trench warfare of that conflict.
More recently, in 2004, the Rev. Ron Camarda, a Catholic priest and Marine Reserve major, sang “O Holy Night” at the bedside of a dying American Marine, wounded on a military mission in Fallujah, Iraq. He sent a video that was meant to be a song of love to those at home in the U.S.
Mary wanted to honor God, the song, and the congregation by performing it well. The good news – she knocked it out of the park. As she ended the song, and I was quietly sobbing to myself in a pew, I heard a woman behind me whisper to her companion, “What a gift!” I believe she was referring to Mary’s singing talent, but she also may have been referring to the gift we all received in terms of the meaning and beauty of the song.
Next, Mary and I traditionally call each of my brothers on Christmas Day. We know that we can probably catch them at one of their homes in Northern California and can say hi to all the in-laws, cousins, nephews, and nieces gathered there while we celebrate with immediate family in San Diego.
Sure enough, we talked to older brother Roger and his extended family while we were driving to Poway to be with grandkids. Later, it hit me that I had failed to call younger brother Mark, and it took me a second to remember that Mark had died in August. I am still struggling with his loss. But I take comfort in knowing that he walks with me every day in my thoughts. That made me cry again. I miss Mark.
And finally, our grandson Mason – aged two and a half. This fall, I made him a wooden rocking horse, as I have for the other sets of grandchildren. Admittedly, my woodworking is not as good as it used to be. You know how when you are building a brick wall, and if you do not get the bottom row straight, level, and plumb, you are never going to get things right. It was this way with the rocking horse. I just could not get the rockers right, and “Pete” wound up rocking like he had recently had four hip and knee replacement procedures.
At least he still looked like a horse. So, our big family Christmas was held on Friday, the 23rd. Pete did not come out of the gate well. I placed Mason on the horse and rocked him a little bit. He (Mason, not Pete) was visibly frightened, so I took him down, and that was the end of that. Maybe he has a thing about rocking horses that limp.
Everybody laughed it off, but after a couple of hundred hours of woodworking, I was admittedly a little bummed.
Then yesterday, Christmas Day, Mason’s wonderful parents, Chris and Julie, sent me a video of Mason approaching, mounting, and rocking Pete while wearing a big grin. “What does the horsey say?” “Neigh!” “Who made the rocking horse?” “Grandpa!” “Merry Christmas!”
Later, I teared up. What thoughtful parents. They knew I was a little disappointed on Friday, even though I tried not to show it. It was a terrific Christmas present.
I am blessed by family, friends, our Church, and of course, by God.
Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year to all.
