Growing up, it seemed that Christmas was the one day of the year that my dad didn't work. I mean he definitley did work, but not the type of work that he really doesn't like, such as writing reports, required correspondence, and the like. He still usually had to organize carols and the Christmas day service for our church (which many times was held at our house- imaging having 70 people cramming into your home just after opening gifts Christmas morning). But during that day, the work that we did (like cooking, cleaning the house, and all that fun stuff) was for the purpose of being with each other. The day is focused on community and just being with each other. My family sadly reflects the wider pop-culture everyday, and eating altogether around a table is only an occasional occurence, we usually eat on our own schedules and almost always infront of one of our televisions. It's strange though, even though we're reluctant to spend time together throughout the year (we're too busy), on one of the busiest day of the years, that seems to be all we want to do. Human's were designed by God to be communal. We need to live in close relationship with one another for full lives, psychology confirms that. But most of the year we live under the same house and miss it. This is one of the days of the year that reminds us who we really are.
There's been two people these past few weeks who have really given me a lot to think about...
My Grandad.
Grandpa Kingsley had his 83rd birthday the day after he arrived about tw weeks ago. It's one of those strange things for everyone in the family including himself to see him getting older. He's still the wonderful guy that he's always been but as we get older we just don't move as quickly as we used to do, and recent health problems haven't helped things either. My introduction to philosophy professor, who in his 20s suffered an accident that left him with serious physical disabilities once exhorted us to work on our strength of character as it will be something that remains. He said he decided to give up swearing when he was first in hospital when he was our age. He was in a room with an elderly man who was getting to the end of his life. This man was too weak to give out the nice clean, friendly, public face that we all put on when we are conscious that there are other human beings around, and what was left of this man was a complaining, annoyed, bitter and who's every second word began with an F. Our professor had been told that this was a generally nice and genial man, but when weakness and ill health got to him, this is what came out. In turn our professor promised himself that day that he would stop the habit of swearing so that even when he was not in volantary control of his body vulgarity (as he described it) wouldn't be what people associated him with. I keep remembering this story as I see my grandfather age graciously. I have been struck by my grandad's generous and servant heart. At every stop of the day he is there eager to serve, even though with his diminished strength, there are fewer ways that he can help out. Whenever the car stops, he is the last one in the house, after waiting to see if anything needs to be brought in. We were at the carol service of the College my dad teaches at the other day, and my grandad was helping with cleanup by holding the power chord for the man that was hoovering the main floor. At every meal he is offering his food to others, even when he has a great appetite himself. His generosity and selfless behaviour has become second nature to him. Even at this moment everyone has left the kitchen and he is doing the washing up (I think his third time doing it today). I'm sure that even many years from now, when my grandfather is coming to his final time here with us on this earth, his servant heart will still be completely evident and something that I need to learn from.
My brother.
My brother has shown me a real life Christmas. My sister-in-law Hailey has been incredibly ill and in constant pain. The worst part is that she can't keep any food or water down, and so every few days she is needing to go into hospital because she is becoming inceredibly malnourished. On top of that, the day after Christmas my brother is in charge of leading a group of 12 youth from all around europe on a 5 day trip to Ireland, and he needs to finish the last bits of organization that keep coming up. My brother has been amazing though. He's got a son to look after still, and even though he is getting loads of help from my parents and his Christian community, he's still got a ton to handle, not to mention the thought of your wife being in hospital over this Christmas time. You've got to laugh at the image of Hailey on her hospital bed in pain on the day before Christmas, in a room with 4 other women (all at different stages of pregnancy) while they're trying to get some sort of festive feeling in the clinical sterility of it all by blasting Christmas carols, when the hospital decides this would be a great time to start testing the fire alarm system. All matt and hailey could do was cry at the absurdity of it all. This is Christmas reality. Why is it that sometimes when things hurt the most and we're feeling the most intense emotions (whether high or low) is when we feel the most alive? And why do we feel that way so infrequently?
Happy Christmas Everyone!! God bless!
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