As the Christmas season begins to draw to a close, I always tend to become a bit melancholy. I had the pleasure and fun of having Christmas dinner at my house. There were eight of us who joined at the table. My pastor, from the Cathedral that I attend, always preaches that; “There is always room at the table.” I know he speaks of the Lord’s Table, but I like to practice that same philosophy, for I believe that when friends and family are joined at the table to break bread, it quickly becomes the Lord’s Table. What are we, if we are not all the Body of Christ?
See what I mean about becoming melancholy? When I surveyed the room, I found my sister, brother-in-law, and my niece. I found friends of my sister, who now I call friends. I found a friend of mine that I have known for many, many years. And, I found my Pastor and spiritual mentor. All of us come from very different walks of life. All very, very different personalities, but all still sitting around laughing and trying to sing and remember the words to “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” What other time of the year do eight people break into song together after a meal? Maybe a quick “Happy Birthday” but nothing quite as complex as “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” There was even an award for the person that could sing it through in its entirety – an ornament filled with Ghirardelli chocolate peppermint bark. That may have even been worth embarrassing one’s self in song.
One precious little thing that was not present was my adorable little Bichon, Gracie Lou. Gracie was born visually impaired, and for her to be exposed to many people, with furniture moved to accommodate extra tables and chairs, would have been very hard on her. It would have been both frustrating and frightening to her. So, Gracie went to my friend’s house and hung out with her cat, Chloe. After dinner and after the departure of my guests, except for one friend, Miss Gracie came home. She sniffed all around, knowing others had been in her house. She then sat in the lap of my friend for a while, but eventually made her way over to me, where she crawled up in my lap and into my arms, and just settled in. As I said, I become quite melancholy. I hugged her, and I told my friend that I was certainly not ready for her to leave me, but that I truly hoped that when she does die and goes to heaven, that she will be able to see all the things that she has never been able to see in this life. The trees, the sun, the night, all her doggie friends. Then I became tearful when I realized and said to my friend, “She doesn’t even know what I look like.”
But, then I realized she does indeed know what I “look” like. She “sees” my gentle hands that deliver her favorite cookies. She “sees” my tender lips that love to kiss her soft little pink belly. She “sees” my loving arms that hold her tenderly. She “sees” my smiles and laughter when she is her mischievous self, and I have to chase down my socks that she absolutely loves to steal. She “sees” my heart that loves her unconditionally, as she also loves me. Yes, she “sees” me and can describe me better than probably anyone who actually sees my face.
Yes, this time of season certainly brings out the melancholy in me. But, that is a good thing. It makes me stop, reflect, and give thanks to all the wonderful parts of my life. Where I have been and what has transpired in my past, brings me exactly to where and who I am today. As we ring out the old year and in the New Year, may we all be blessed with those melancholy moments that bring about prayers of thanks. It is truly a holy season!
