Christmas Sunday
It was 1:00 on Christmas Eve morning five years ago when the telephone awakened us from a deep sleep, a call announcing the news of the death of my daddy. Although for him it was a welcome release from a body and mind seriously compromised by Parkinsons Disease, for my sister and me, our husbands, and our children, it was bittersweet news. We all knew in the depths of our hearts that Dad/Grandpa loved Jesus and had arrived in heaven just in time to celebrate His birthday with Jesus and Mom, and things don't get better than that.
But for us . . . our hearts hurt. There was a huge, Daddy/Grandpa-sized hole deep within each of us. Dad was special -- our conservative, fun, financially Scotch, sweet, warm-hearted, funny, kind, tender Dad/Grandpa who loved Jesus and Mom and each one of us more than life itself. To him, we were all special, unbeatable, unmatchable, unique, and wonderful.
The Sunday before this devastating/wonderful news, Dad and I had had a great time together. Unable to walk, sometimes unable to talk, unable to feed himself or even push the button for the Atherton nurses when he had a need, Dad and I still had special time together every day. On Christmas Sunday, I dropped Neil off at church and went across to Atherton to watch worship with Daddy. He was already ensconced in his recliner, leaving me his bed, which I adjusted to a lounging position and laid upon to watch worship.
But because our church is very multi-cultural with people from something like 25 language groups worshiping together there, scriptures and music that day were in a variety of languages -- English, Chinese, Spanish, or Tagalog. Dad was having enough trouble coping with English, so we discovered that the Christmas Holiday on Ice was on another channel. Back & forth, back and forth we'd go between channels, alternately enjoying the Christmas carols . . . then being overwhelmed with the beauty of "O Holy Night" and other Christmas music performed on ice. Since Mom and Dad met on an ice rink in Canada and Dad was a good skater, the ice skating seemed especially poignant and fitting.
And then, just a few days later, Daddy was gone. Who would have thought on that morning, when we were having such a special time together, that just a few days later Daddy would be dancing on the streets of heaven? (I don't think you ice skate there 'cause I'm convinced it doesn't get that cold!)
A year passed . . . and Christmas Sunday arrived. Halfway to church, I was overwhelmed with emotion and dread, and I told Neil, "I cannot do this!" What I could not do was go to worship on Christmas Sunday. It seemed almost heretical, and yet . . . I just could . . . not . . . go. So I dropped Neil off and went to Starbucks, called my sister, and for an hour we reminisced about our dad. We talked, we laughed, we cried . . . a precious Christmas Sunday celebrating Dad with Merrilyn long distance, and we've done that every Christmas Sunday since Dad's death.
And then there was today. Early this year, I joined the choir at FBC Alhambra, a totally wonderful experience. We've got the best, neatest, craziest, most wonderful Pastor of Worship Arts. His name is Marco, and singing in his choir is a pleasure. Today, we were presenting the musical "Christmas Shoes," accompanied by a 16-piece orchestra.
This was the first time in 5 years, since my father's death, that I have attended worship on Christmas Sunday. I did go to Starbucks early this morning and called my sister, but then I went on to church. I was blessed to sing a solo, "Heaven's Child," for the offertory, and then it was time for "Christmas Shoes".
Although there is an awesome rendition of "You're a Mean One, Mr Grinch" in the middle of this musical, the "Christmas Shoes" story actually centers around a little boy whose mother is very ill. On Christmas Eve he takes all his pennies to the store to buy his mama a pair of Christmas shoes: "I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus . . . tonight," sang the little boy.
My heart felt crushed, my breath was ragged, my emotions rocked, and I found that my face was soaked in tears. Then I realized that most of the choir was quietly crying, and looking at the congregation, found that they were, too.
Several of us in the choir have sustained the loss of loved ones -- either this year, or like me during the Thanksgiving/ Christmas time frame in years gone by. But none of us expected to be hit so hard emotionally this morning, and the congregation was taken totally by surprise by their own emotional reactions, I would guess.
But oh, how God spoke the Christmas message through this whole emotional, wonderful, powerful musical today, and how touched I was to be back at church on Christmas Sunday. I know Daddy was smiling as he looked down from heaven, but only because the Bible says there will be no more tears there. Otherwise, my tender-hearted papa would have been crying right along with all the rest of us at this touching, God event.
But for us . . . our hearts hurt. There was a huge, Daddy/Grandpa-sized hole deep within each of us. Dad was special -- our conservative, fun, financially Scotch, sweet, warm-hearted, funny, kind, tender Dad/Grandpa who loved Jesus and Mom and each one of us more than life itself. To him, we were all special, unbeatable, unmatchable, unique, and wonderful.
The Sunday before this devastating/wonderful news, Dad and I had had a great time together. Unable to walk, sometimes unable to talk, unable to feed himself or even push the button for the Atherton nurses when he had a need, Dad and I still had special time together every day. On Christmas Sunday, I dropped Neil off at church and went across to Atherton to watch worship with Daddy. He was already ensconced in his recliner, leaving me his bed, which I adjusted to a lounging position and laid upon to watch worship.
But because our church is very multi-cultural with people from something like 25 language groups worshiping together there, scriptures and music that day were in a variety of languages -- English, Chinese, Spanish, or Tagalog. Dad was having enough trouble coping with English, so we discovered that the Christmas Holiday on Ice was on another channel. Back & forth, back and forth we'd go between channels, alternately enjoying the Christmas carols . . . then being overwhelmed with the beauty of "O Holy Night" and other Christmas music performed on ice. Since Mom and Dad met on an ice rink in Canada and Dad was a good skater, the ice skating seemed especially poignant and fitting.
And then, just a few days later, Daddy was gone. Who would have thought on that morning, when we were having such a special time together, that just a few days later Daddy would be dancing on the streets of heaven? (I don't think you ice skate there 'cause I'm convinced it doesn't get that cold!)
A year passed . . . and Christmas Sunday arrived. Halfway to church, I was overwhelmed with emotion and dread, and I told Neil, "I cannot do this!" What I could not do was go to worship on Christmas Sunday. It seemed almost heretical, and yet . . . I just could . . . not . . . go. So I dropped Neil off and went to Starbucks, called my sister, and for an hour we reminisced about our dad. We talked, we laughed, we cried . . . a precious Christmas Sunday celebrating Dad with Merrilyn long distance, and we've done that every Christmas Sunday since Dad's death.
And then there was today. Early this year, I joined the choir at FBC Alhambra, a totally wonderful experience. We've got the best, neatest, craziest, most wonderful Pastor of Worship Arts. His name is Marco, and singing in his choir is a pleasure. Today, we were presenting the musical "Christmas Shoes," accompanied by a 16-piece orchestra.
This was the first time in 5 years, since my father's death, that I have attended worship on Christmas Sunday. I did go to Starbucks early this morning and called my sister, but then I went on to church. I was blessed to sing a solo, "Heaven's Child," for the offertory, and then it was time for "Christmas Shoes".
Although there is an awesome rendition of "You're a Mean One, Mr Grinch" in the middle of this musical, the "Christmas Shoes" story actually centers around a little boy whose mother is very ill. On Christmas Eve he takes all his pennies to the store to buy his mama a pair of Christmas shoes: "I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus . . . tonight," sang the little boy.
My heart felt crushed, my breath was ragged, my emotions rocked, and I found that my face was soaked in tears. Then I realized that most of the choir was quietly crying, and looking at the congregation, found that they were, too.
Several of us in the choir have sustained the loss of loved ones -- either this year, or like me during the Thanksgiving/ Christmas time frame in years gone by. But none of us expected to be hit so hard emotionally this morning, and the congregation was taken totally by surprise by their own emotional reactions, I would guess.
But oh, how God spoke the Christmas message through this whole emotional, wonderful, powerful musical today, and how touched I was to be back at church on Christmas Sunday. I know Daddy was smiling as he looked down from heaven, but only because the Bible says there will be no more tears there. Otherwise, my tender-hearted papa would have been crying right along with all the rest of us at this touching, God event.
posted by Patty @ 6:08 PM
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