A highchair. Boxes for wrapping. Marshmallows and crushed pineapple. Wheat, rice, corn cereal. A special Santa box for someone special. Cranberries. Tylenol. Chocolate bark. Just a sample of the beginning of our Christmas shopping.
The neighborhood was quiet at 7:30 p.m. on a Friday night eleven days before Christmas. Where was the party traffic? I guess everyone was home wrapping presents and making Chex Mix.
The trees are standing, rounded in lights, ornaments caught up on tips and needles. Big, fluffed bows decorate papered boxes and tissue spills from glittered bags. Christmas movies make merry mirth and highlight the happy family faces. A tiny bell jingles.
In another home, a woman stares at the television and wonders if that medicine could help. Even thinking about preparing a box of stuffing is beyond the fog of her depression. She struggles to stay awake during Wheel of Fortune and then says goodnight, feeling guilty for absence. She settles to sleep with wordless prayers. Hoping the morning will look different.
An institution surrounded by tall, steel fences, sits quietly beneath security cameras and lights. People abandoned by families. Hopeless illness resistant to medicine or therapy. Another department full of patients deserted in twisted minds and insane crimes. Christmas cards will be handed out tomorrow and new socks. Five dollars for chips and cokes. For a few minutes, each will have a reason to reach out in hope.
A flood of memories in the middle of a busy day. Weighted shoulders. Cloudy day. The best dog died two years ago three days before Christmas. Years ago just before Christmas, an afternoon spent with my Daddy, heavy hearted with the depression of crippling illness, trying to coax a smile and settle a brow with words of encouragement and hope. A realization of his outlook. But his everholding hope.
Returning home to the news of the death of my lifelong Music Man - never known but always loved. Playing his music through tears for both my loves. Two years later, losing my father barely into the new year.
Everyone wants a table full of games and sledding down the hill with laughing children. Fighting over dinner rolls and soft candles on the mantel. Who can understand the lack of energy to enjoy friends or the debilitating physical pain living in the shame of depression. This is the best, happiest time of the year.
Lean in and whisper hope. We are Jesus to the hurting. Shine glory. Proclaim hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment