Christmas Eve

Numbered among the things I can no longer do is number firsts.  I am not immune, and I have done it.  I get very nostalgic about things, and I definitely know that it is 19 Christmas' that I have not had Mama, this is the third without Granny, and there are others seared on my soul.  Yes, I know, and I do not condemn nor misunderstand the doing of it.  Some are too personal to even discuss.

But, I think we reach a point in our lives, where the number of losses come up to the point that we lose track of firsts.  Some, are very deeply personal, and are in a class of their own, we never forget.  But, I get feeling rather poorly that I am not entirely sure how many Christmas' this has been since Uncle Bobby passed.  Lord knows, I loved him as much as any of the rest, and he was just as special as the rest of them.

If I thought about it hard enough, or researched enough, I could definitely figure it out.  But, I absolutely cannot think of a single thing that would aggravate Bobby more than me trying to figure out when he died.  "Jesus Christ, boy, are you dumber than dirt?  Get up and lets go fishing, I'm driving," would have been his response.  I deleted the cuss words that I never minded.  Bobby and I are both sailors.  And I learned not to let him drive, because I am not dumber than dirt.

The point being, there is not a person in my family that I can think of that would want me to feel badly because I lost track of first, thirds or nineteenths.  They were, none of them, the kind of people that found it appropriate to be captive over death.  I figure that each of them had to get to where I am, and there were much larger families back in the day.  Loss was not more or less difficult or personal, but it seems to have been more frequent.

I have a good memory, and dates are numbers.  Numbers and data are my thing.  Because I can recall dates and numbers, does not mean more than those are things that stick in my head.  16-24-36, Locker 116 across the hall from Mrs Bailey's class on the second floor of Chopticon.  My high school locker combination and locker.  I have a ton of combinations captive in my head, but struggle to remember my computer passwords because they require letters.  I can tell you the grain drill setting was 14 for rye and 11 for barley.  Don't ask me why, I was never allowed to plant grain.  But, I remember the indicator on the handle, from painting it.

But, I have learned to not imprint dates of death.  I don't like waking up each morning and associating it with someone gone.  I no longer practice the Catholic faith, but I always thought it cool that there was a saint each day, that was celebrated.  However, I don't want to venerate my family.  They were not holy, nor were they perfect, nor are they going to be canonized, though Granny may deserve it.  They were people like me, with issues and struggles.

I prefer, at this point to just think about them as I knew them.  That means some of them are different than others remember them.  We are all different in different situations.  But, to me, they were titans, striding through the world as conquerors and victors.  That may sound too grand for people I don't want to venerate, but I do want to remember them fondly, and with great joy.  Those words are appropriate.

Honestly, how do you want to remember people?  If you want to cling to the rough parts and the disagreement, I cannot stop you.  I can only counsel you that my memories bring me comfort and happiness.  Some of these people passed while we were not settled in our disputes.  Yet, they are not dark subjects in my dreams, nor do they disturb my heart.  I can choose what to dwell upon.

When I was a boy, that farm in Chaptico was enormous.  It was more than large enough to encompass our dreams and our play and our wonder.  We knew it well, everything within all four corners.   Where to find fossils in the creek, where to find bull minnows, where to find bull frogs, where the forts and best places to take shelter were.  We knew what trees you could climb, and which ones were better left alone, till the next time you tried.  We piloted those huge tractors over the millions of acres, from the barn where they were always parked neatly.  We climbed the lofts and rafters, warred with corn cobs and tobacco sticks.  It was more than any amusement park, in my memory.

Now, the farm is much smaller.  I guess that is normal.  My definition of big is informed by other things now.  I have been 10 decks above the water in the middle of the Atlantic, watching the sun set behind us, and then the sun rise behind us.  I have stood between engines that were the size of the house I grew up in, and controlled them by hand valves and voice radio.  I have seen the Grand Canyon from the air, Yellowstone from the ground.  I have been differently informed.

It is what makes me feel somewhat confused at the farm now.  It no longer fits my memories.  Or my memories no longer fit within it.  Nothing has changed in terms of the land.  What has changed is the people.  There are as many people living on the farm now, as there were when I was 10.  But, my vantage point is different.  I can overlay the current version, and cement it into place, or live with the limitless vision in my head.

I choose the latter, and the memories.  I cannot ignore the reality, nor change it.  I don't want to, but I do keep the past alive.  I think it confuses my family, why I get lost so easily in the county now.  But, I cannot let the current state overlay the version in my head.  I navigate through it when there.  But, I prefer the 1980 version that is in my memory, here in Clayton.  I have not had it change gradually around me, altering the normal and continuing to make it the version I use.

I have that experience here in Clayton, and 20 years of it in Portsmouth, VA.  They have both changed significantly in my time there, and the current is the actual.  It has to be that way, as I am part of the change and parcel with the present.  It is hard to remember the past versions, because the present versions are so prominent.

I have guarded the past.  It was my refuge and escape for many years of service, that saw times that required me to have that place to retreat to.  I cannot express what the forced exile and separation does to you, but it makes you different.  I refused to give away the essence of what I thought I was.  I fought it tooth and nail.

I did not fully recognize that time loops.  I find myself in situations and places that I watched my father and uncles and grandfather navigate.  It is very real and very permanent.  The sense of deja vu is both comforting and disturbing.  I have an example to hold up and see how it fits, but it also makes me wonder if I am wrong, when I change the outcome.  Time loops, it does not repeat, and each situation requires its own solution.

So, no firsts for me this Christmas.  I just have some sorrow that is pretty big.  And, some self pity that is probably bigger.  It dawned on me the other evening, that we are orphans now.  That hurt, bad.  I don't know why, we have all been on our own and very capable for years.  But, knowing that door is shut permanently is scary.

However, they are not gone.  They remain with me, within me and around me.  I would rather spend my time with the good memories, and to hell with the bad.  And I would much rather celebrate the birth of my Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ.  Regardless of what we face, there is plenty there to find to celebrate.

And, save me the argument that it did not occur on December 25.  I know, and I understand the arguments about March and May.  I don't care.  This is how the Lord has organized it for us.  I am immune to the atheistic Grinchyness.  I feel badly that some cannot understand the symbolic celebration and enjoy the holiday for what it brings to mind, and instead get caught up in legalistic, mumbo jumbo.  Yep, other groups had that issue, and at Easter, we will tell stories about how they hardened their hearts and turned Jesus over to be crucified.

You can choose to remember and let it torment you.  Or you can choose to remember and let it energize you.  I choose energy.  I choose belief.  I choose salvation and deliverance.  I choose a king born to a virgin, in a manger, glorified by hosts in heaven, foretold by the prophets, and blessed of the Lord.  We don't even know exactly how many Christmas celebrations have happened.  God is not about exact, because we are incapable of containing the exact measurements of God.

I celebrated my 48th birthday on the 20th.  Yet, it feels like my 1st.  I was baptized on 11/22.  It felt and I believe it was a renewal.  Maybe that was exactly when it was supposed to happen, because the Lord knew what was in store for me within a month.  I choose to believe that with all my soul.  I choose to celebrate, because I am born again.  I choose to not be captive to death and memory.  I choose to celebrate life and what will be.

In the end, the single and solitary thing we get power over on this earth, is the choosing.  I did not need the last few days to change me, I had already chosen to be changed.  I was, and am, saddened.  I feel it deep in me.  But, to live saddened and overcome cheats me, and it cheats my Lord.  If you have read these posts, you know that I like these lyrics, "We were meant to run in fields of forever, singing praises to our Savior and King."  Praises come from loss and sorrow, they are the reflection, the antithesis of loss.  I think we have to experience loss to really understand gain.  And, I gain everything in the Lord.

So, that was my Christmas gift this year.  I was given one of the greatest losses that anyone can sustain, and I now have something to frame praise greater than any I have sung.  We all grieve differently, and at our own timeframe.  I do not judge, nor do I condemn.  I will hold your hand through it, pray for you and with you over it, hurt with you and for you.  But, as for me, and my house, we will serve the Lord.  And we will do it with a smile informed by sadness but not hiding grief.  There is no grief in the Lord.  Do not be afraid!  Call on the Lord, He will give you rest, and hold you in His mighty and victorious right hand.  You will rise up on wings like eagles.  You will run and not grow weary.  You will walk and not grow faint.  You will be a conqueror in Christ, who strengthens you.

That is what I celebrate this year.  There was born a Savior, in Bethlehem, in a manger.   He loved me enough to ensure that I knew about Him.  He loved my Daddy enough to ensure he knew about Him.  And, because of that, in faith, I know I will see Him and Daddy, and Mama, and Granny and Bobby, and all the myriad hosts again.  If you cannot celebrate the birth of that legacy and the very fact that God took the form of man for you, and He would have done it for you, and you alone, if no one else chose Him in all the history of the world, you do not understand Christmas.

Please go find a place to worship.  If you cannot do it in a church, then do it with friends, family, loved ones of any description.  It is enough of a gift to cover all your sins, and that is a mighty gift.  What you give or get others is really immaterial, and not the point of the season.  Love each other, remember fondly and with love, and praise the Lord.  That is my recipe for a Merry Christmas, and I intend to keep it very merry indeed, to paraphrase Mr. Dickens.

It is not easy, that choice.  It is not that there is not sadness, it is that there is not defeat.  I choose to think that death is a victory, for a race well run.  I cried, and I will cry again today, and probably at some point tomorrow and the next day.  Who knows how many days?  I still have days and situations that put me in tears over not having Mama with me.  That loss is mine, and I can find comfort in the Lord, not absence of loss.  The Lord's yoke is light, but it is still a yoke.  We have our burdens.  But, I won't bow to them, or ignore the victory in the loss.  That is my best understanding and explanation.

God Bless Us Every One.

GLYASDI