What I Missed This Christmas

For many people in my life, this Christmas 2022 was very different. In this past year, my family lost two siblings, and Steve and I lost two very good friends. Christmas was not the same without them. Perhaps you feel the same way. I’m sorry if it wasn’t what you expected.

Cheryl was my friend for almost thirty years. We spent many hours together in class at Seattle Ministry Institute.  Each Thursday I’d drive her home from class and we shared hopes and dreams together.  Our cohort started strong and only a handful finished. Cheryl was my encouragement to finish strong.

The past several Christmas seasons have been spent with her at her apartment in Bothell, WA. We laughed and cried and schemed about the next book we would write together. Our Friday lunches sometimes became Friday dinners because we talked for hours.  Our phone calls would often last more than an hour.

She went to heaven on July 1, 2022, and I dearly miss our times together. Rest well my friend.

So what do we do when Christmas just isn’t the same? Maybe it is because the family isn’t getting along. Could it be that finances are so tight you don’t have any extra for gifts? Or perhaps, like me, you’ve lost someone special. It is hard. I know. I’ve cried many tears this December over what is no more. I’ve learned to focus on the good memories and trust God to give me a new friend. Cheryl can never be replaced, but I am certain God will make a way for me to find that deep friendship again.

What has always kept me going in a season of Christmas is the story from 1965 when my hometown of Anaconda, MT made our Christmas so very special. I wrote this article as an assignment in a writing class and it was published on the front page of The Montana Standard and The Anaconda Leader newspapers during Christmas 2006. I share it with you to bring you hope when a loss might be trying to steal your joy.

A Devine Christmas Thank You

Thanks to a loving community, the harsh reality of cancer was forgotten for our family during Christmas 1965.

 

Over Thanksgiving weekend, lung cancer had stolen away our beloved dad, Bob Devine. Mom’s first words after he died were “Now what are we going to do?” With medical bills exceeding $10,000 and a bank account wiped out, she feared the worst.

 

At age 44, although she had overcome the challenges of a high school injury that left her crippled, Mom had no idea how to deal with the reality of her life as a widow with 10 children. The situation looked grim as Christmas day closed in.

 

My teenage siblings pitched in to make the season feel somewhat normal. They cut down a fresh tree and dragged the boxes of decorations from the basement.

 

Dad loved to watch his 10 children scramble for their favorite ornament and carefully place it on the branches of the evergreen. Jim and Jack, the 15-year-old twins, lifted 4-year-old Patti on their shoulders placing the angel on top of the 10-foot pine, something Dad used to do. Christmas would be different without him, but this one would be remembered for the rest of our lives.

 

Imagine the mystery and surprise when each day Christmas angels emptied their pocketbooks to fill a deep void left in our hearts. They filled our front and back porches with Christmas love. There were sacks of potatoes, bags of flour and sugar, apples and oranges, boxes of cereal, turkeys, hams and roasts. One egg carton arrived with a $100 bill tucked neatly inside. Wrapped gift boxes marked “boy” or “girl” were quickly hidden to save the Christmas morning surprise for the kids who still believed in Santa.

 

Although she claimed not to believe in Santa, 13-year-old Kathy was forced to say “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” as she watched us trip over the packages on Christmas morning. Yet, Santa was not a singular noun, like our English teacher mom had taught us. Santa was an entire community, dear sweet Anaconda.

We were overwhelmed by clothes and coats; a train, a race car set; Monopoly and Mouse Trap games, dolls with beautiful dresses, ice skates, sleds and skis. The most overwhelming thing was the look on mom’s face as she watched her cherished 10 squeal with delight at the surprises.

 

Mom would not have been able to buy any toys this year, just a month after losing dad. At a time when her future was uncertain and worry caused sleepless nights, loving friends and strangers gave her something to smile about.

 

To this day, we do not know the names of the Christmas angels who blessed us in 1965. No one ever came forward to take credit. God knows who was responsible for this incredible blessing that lives on in our hearts.

 

This gift of love has motivated me to help needy families in my community. One year we witnessed the excited smiles as we delivered food and wrapped gifts to a Romanian family with 13 children. Christmas 1965 came alive in my heart that day.

 

Severe dementia has stolen mom’s ability to tell this story herself, but for years it was a favorite told to her family. As she lives her remaining years in a nursing home, I am telling the story for her.

 

May the blessing of Christmas live long in your hearts as you choose to pass it on to those in need. The impact you had on our family will never be forgotten.

 

Thank you, Anaconda.