The best things in life aren't 'things'
Betty McKinney, of Warner Robins, sent me a note a few days ago.
“It his reminded me so much of your columns that I wanted to share it with you,’’ she wrote. “This is an entry my 42-year-old son made in his journal”
I was so touched whn I read it, I wrote her back and asked for her permission to share it with our “Daily Gris” readers. She then asked her son, Jay McKinney, if it would be OK for me to post it.
So this is from Jay, straight from the heart.
The sun had long gone down as had the outside temperature as I went out to pull the car into the garage. Before getting into the car, I paused long enough to take a look at the Christmas lights I had put up on the house.
They were quite a sight to behold. Perfectly spaced…all at the same angle and facing the same direction…uniformly distributed along the lower and upper portions of the house. Plugged into a timer that so faithfully had them welcome me home each evening and made sure they did not disturb a good night’s sleep. Precision that would have made any military drill team proud.
“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…” I whispered to myself even though Christmas was now two days removed. And as I whispered those familiar words and gazed at the lights, I was struck by how empty and meaningless those lights suddenly became to me. They do not look like Christmas. Deciding to prolong my stay in the cold air, I trudged off to unplug the lights. And as I did, in my heart I saw what Christmas looks like.
It looked like Christmas when, on Christmas Eve, my 22 yr old son pulled up in the driveway shortly after lunch, bearing not only gifts but his overnight bag.
It looked like Christmas when, that same evening, the same son accompanied his parents to a movie. And not the latest action movie or the “most hilarious comedy of the year”, but a gentle retelling of a story that occurred in Bethlehem over 2000 years ago.
It looked like Christmas on Christmas morning when my oldest son and his new wife arrived at our home. And after placing their gifts around the tree, we all retreated to the kitchen for a breakfast that was light on the food but heavy with conversation and laughter.
And it certainly looked like Christmas around lunchtime in my parents' home, as we all gathered into a circle and joined hands and prepared to offer thanks, to hear my Mom offer tearful but joyful thanks to her children and their wives and their children and a grand-daughter-in-law for simply being there.
So on that cold winter night, in my 42nd year I finally understood that the things that make it look like Christmas are not things hung by the fireplace with care, or plugged into outlets and timers, or adorning the stair rail or front door, or wrapped in brightly colored bows.
No, the things that make it look like Christmas, are not “things” at all.
“It his reminded me so much of your columns that I wanted to share it with you,’’ she wrote. “This is an entry my 42-year-old son made in his journal”
I was so touched whn I read it, I wrote her back and asked for her permission to share it with our “Daily Gris” readers. She then asked her son, Jay McKinney, if it would be OK for me to post it.
So this is from Jay, straight from the heart.
The sun had long gone down as had the outside temperature as I went out to pull the car into the garage. Before getting into the car, I paused long enough to take a look at the Christmas lights I had put up on the house.
They were quite a sight to behold. Perfectly spaced…all at the same angle and facing the same direction…uniformly distributed along the lower and upper portions of the house. Plugged into a timer that so faithfully had them welcome me home each evening and made sure they did not disturb a good night’s sleep. Precision that would have made any military drill team proud.
“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…” I whispered to myself even though Christmas was now two days removed. And as I whispered those familiar words and gazed at the lights, I was struck by how empty and meaningless those lights suddenly became to me. They do not look like Christmas. Deciding to prolong my stay in the cold air, I trudged off to unplug the lights. And as I did, in my heart I saw what Christmas looks like.
It looked like Christmas when, on Christmas Eve, my 22 yr old son pulled up in the driveway shortly after lunch, bearing not only gifts but his overnight bag.
It looked like Christmas when, that same evening, the same son accompanied his parents to a movie. And not the latest action movie or the “most hilarious comedy of the year”, but a gentle retelling of a story that occurred in Bethlehem over 2000 years ago.
It looked like Christmas on Christmas morning when my oldest son and his new wife arrived at our home. And after placing their gifts around the tree, we all retreated to the kitchen for a breakfast that was light on the food but heavy with conversation and laughter.
And it certainly looked like Christmas around lunchtime in my parents' home, as we all gathered into a circle and joined hands and prepared to offer thanks, to hear my Mom offer tearful but joyful thanks to her children and their wives and their children and a grand-daughter-in-law for simply being there.
So on that cold winter night, in my 42nd year I finally understood that the things that make it look like Christmas are not things hung by the fireplace with care, or plugged into outlets and timers, or adorning the stair rail or front door, or wrapped in brightly colored bows.
No, the things that make it look like Christmas, are not “things” at all.
posted by Ed Grisamore at 5:28 AM
2 Comments:
This put a lump in my throat reading this.
I'll simply say Amen.
Post a Comment
<< Home