A wave to the past

     As they backed out of the driveway and then drove slowly away, I followed, waving constantly until they were out of sight. Just like my grandmother used to do.
 
    When I was a child and  we visited my grandmother, the last sight we had as we left was her following us out of her driveway and down the street, standing there smiling and waving until we turned the corner and the house vanished from sight. In response, all three of us, my brothers and I, would plaster ourselves to the car windows and wave maniacally back as we left her behind.

    So when Pam and Marley left last Sunday night around dark, I found myself on the other side of the equation, following the car down the drive and seeing them off into the night. Just like my grandmother used to do.

     Texas is a long way from Alabama, and so we see the family we left 800 miles away less often than we would like. The time we spend together at Christmas is joyful and triumphant, but much too short. I find myself greedy of my time spent with family seldom seen but constantly in my thoughts. So that's why I found myself eager to follow them out, to get just one more moment spent together.

    But like I suspect my grandmother did, I also want to give them that last contact with me. And for their last memory of our time together this Christmastime to be of me standing there waving them into the night.

    So as we approach the beginning of another year, I find myself wrapped in memories of the past, of being a kid pressed up against the back window of the car, a lump in my throat as I waved goodbye to a little white-haired woman padding down her driveway to make sure that our last vision was of her smile as we turned the corner and disappeared from her life until the next time.

         Absence from whom we love is worse than death
         And frustrates hope severer than despair
                                                   -William Cowper

Those angels

     Some comedians build up an act for most of their lives. Subject material, delivery and timing, all those components have to be crafted and honed for effect. Painstakingly. Deliberately.
 
     Andrew, however, was killin' em by the time he was 5. All the family was accustomed to his droll malapropisms, and every season brought new "Andrew stories". One of my favorites was his rendition of a Christmas hymn, "Angels We Have Heard on High." His phrasing throughout the verse was entirely orthodox, but when he got to the refrain, his spin was pure Andrew. Rather than completing the long "Gloria" with "in excelsis deo" he interpreted it as

  "and it shall be day-o"

     Much to our delight. Of course. That is one of the many Andrew stories that have persisted in the telling again and again throughout the intervening years. Mostly to his annoyance, because what person enjoys hearing about the "adorable" things said while a child? But it is a story I have been remembering all this past week.

    Today is the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. All week long I have been drearily aware of grey skies, foreshortened days, and endless nights. Houston skies have been rainy and cloudy enough, but with my arrival yesterday in Alabama, the oppressive iron-grey sky is overpowering. Listening to Christmas choral music on the trip, I was mindful of "In the Bleak Midwinter"and its description that "earth stood hard as iron." Will winter never end? Will spring ever return? My youngest brother lives in Seattle where it is rainy and overcast most of the year, and where seasonal affective disorder saps energy and will and social interaction. Little wonder that it does, when even a week of dark skies have made me think darkly.

     So little wonder that Christmas is such a willfully joyous season. In that bleak midwinter, in the midst of shrinking days and oppressive nights, comes the greatest of miracles. The miracle of the incarnation of God into man. The miracles of love and fellowship shared between strangers. Whether you are deeply religious or simply secular, the season of Christmas promises renewal and vigor and community. And it delivers.
     So, here in the midst of family, in the preparation for Christmas, renewing relationships with those separated from me by 800 miles, I am hopeful and joyous and expectant. The promise of Advent brings light and life even with lowering skies and thunderclouds above us.

     Andrew was right.

     Angels we have heard on high
     Sweetly singing o'er the plains
     And the mountains in reply
     Echoing their joyous strains

     Gloria.........
     and it shall be day-o...

   
     Merry Christmas to everyone, and God bless us, every one.