Faith Hill and Tears

It is amazing to me how cathartic (insert long thoughtful pause), and even therapuetic this process of blogging might become. In life there are moments that come along that are so richly inbued with emotions that the need to share them (perhaps to hold them up for introspetion and to share the revelations that ensue) is just overwhelming. I have just risen from bed at 2 AM to purge (imagine all the other colorful words I might have used instead of purge....) my thoughts on a yearly ritual from the deeper recessess of my physche. Lucky you.....

I have thought about this years first Christmas enduced moment of instability (every year at Christmas there seems to be several moments when "the season" just creeps up and suddenly overwhelms my emotional defences). As I relay this I have a mental picture of a peaceful early American settlement with an imposing wood stockade surrounding a small peaceful village. Within the stockade the residents all sleep in their individual cabins, all confident in the security of their constructed defences. They are safe, and all is well. Deep in the night creeping out of the woods with just the reflection of the moonlight off their bare backs comes the native raiding party, obviously intent on wrecking the villagers idylic existance. Their faces are dark masks indistingquishable in the dark. Slowly and unbidden they approach the village, crawl over the wall and disperse throughout the village, until in total surprise they spring upon the residents and wreck total destruction. Incredible metaphor for what seems to happen to my emotions at Christmas. My usual peaceful and steady emotional stability comes under devastating attack............................................. and I cherish the experience each and every time it repeats itself.

I suspect everyone who has spent much time in my company has to know (or at least suspect) this particular seasonal emotional instability. It is an afliction as obvious as any physical handicap, and I wear it particularly proudly. Comments like "There goes Dad again..." are not exactly a rarity. Nor I suspect are they totally in sync with just Christmas, but it is certain that at Christmas I am most vulnerable.

What event has brought on this moment of introspection? Please picture a middle aged (OK, maybe I flatter myself, picture an old man..... me) sitting at his computer sifting through data that needs to be reviewed for his job. He is listening to his computers collection of music, letting it randomly select from a sizable collection of diffent genre (mostly a reflection of his life, meaning mostly rock from the 60's through today). Suddenly he is aware of the lead in melody to a Christmas song, but not just any song, one lammenting and questioning "Where are you Christmas?". His attention is obviously shifted, and suddenly his eyes unfocus and he is obviously being carried away by the music. See him slowly reduced to tears, not just wet eyes, but more like a small boy sobbing as if his whole world is ending....... the old man and boy are one in the same.

Again, my eyes swim. Why? Why should the sentiment of this song illicit such an overwhelming responce. Guess that is what has gotten me out of bed. I need to roll around my thoughts on the subject for anyone who happens this way.

First, at risk of coppyright infringement, the words to the song ask:

Where are you Christmas?
Why can't I find you?
Why have you gone away?
Where is the laughter you used to bring me?
Why can't I hear music play?

My world is changing, I'm rearranging.
Does that mean Christmas changes too?

Where are you Christmas?
Do you remember the one you used to know?
I'm not the same one. See what the times done?
Is that why you let me go?

OK, time to try and compose myself. It is introspection time now. Why such poignancy in those words? They manage to touch my very soul. The cry of a lost soul for innocence lost.? As we age do we loose something of tremendous value...... the ability to blindly hope, unconditionally love, the ability to see magic in everything? Do we have to loose the desire to want to just play? Take a moment, close your eyes and try to touch that time when you existed in a world whereby you were most in touch with your soul? I am betting it was when you were a child. Remember when the world was brighter? Each day full of promise? Each new rising sun brought wonder and the expectation of something new and exciting? When was the last time you stood in total fascination of life? Christmas hits me there. I know so many who have lost the "childliness" in their existance. What loss is there more grievous? Did I cry for them?

I have made no secret that my Mother has a most childlike way of approaching life. More so than anyone I know. This is not a critism, matter of fact it is the most sincere compliment I have perhaps ever offered. That might be her one overwhelming gift to my Father, perhaps even her greatest gift to life. It certainly is her greatest tribute to her faith. Her exuberance has certainly managed to infect me. Nor am I alone. She is most contagious. I know my siblings have that childlike exuberance. A willingness to play. No, not just a willingness, a heart song that demands we play. My sister lives in a constant state of "ready to play". It is a trait I admire and cherish. It is always there in her eyes. They dance for joy constantly. It is her greatest testiment to her faith as well.

I think we have passed this same trait on to our own "next generation". I know my daughter knows how to play. It is obvious, and her most attractive trait (at least the one I treasure most). I pray to God I am a carrier of that "childlike" trait. The thought that I might loose it causes more dread in my heart than loosing a limb. I rank it along side loosing a loved one. It is a wound to the soul for which there is no prosthesis. It would be like loosing "me". At least the part of me I most cherish. The loss would be unbearable. Maybe I cried for me?

I have a friend that shared a truth that she thought it was easier to find Christmas when there are children involved. There was truth in that statement, but I suspect more than she knew. Little ones have the magic. They live in the magic, hell they might BE the magic. As we get older we gradually loose touch with that magic; that ability to see life like a child. You can see in some that it is now totally lost. Existance for them is vanilla. It is reflected in how they live. They lost their innocence, their optimism, their willingness to play....... they lost their ability to be "childlike". Seems to me to be a life without "joy". My friend was right, for Christmas to be magical it requires a child. Matter of fact, I suspect it requires two. The reason for the season (the Child born over two centuries ago), and the one I hope you can find in the mirror. Somewhere in all of us there still resides a child. It is our individual responsibility to find, nuture, and love that child of God. Oh most merciful Father, if I could wish for everyone I love anything, I pray they might find both children this Christmas. Maybe, it was for you I wept?

Maybe it is for children being forced to abandon their innocence far to soon? We should never allow ourselves to be blinded to the plight of so many..... A reminder of how very blessed I should always remember I have been? Maybe it was for the innocent I cried?

Whatever the reason, I think I should close with a warning....... If you do succeed in finding your own inner child, watch out for those plundering Indians.

To Ms Landry

There was a quiet little woman that found her way into my thoughts today. She was an elderly neighbor. A small woman, looking very much like the old news reals from Eastern Europe showing the elderly and children amoungst the bombed out countryside, she was our own time machine to a time in Europe that most only read about.

A woman of German descent, when she met her husband the second world war was just coming to an end. He was an American serviceman, and she a native German. When first they met he spoke not a word of German, nor did she speak a word of English. Still, they somehow managed to conquer the language barrier as they managed to spend a lifetime together. When I first met them her husband was already in poor health. Matter of fact, he was almost impossible to understand. He was old, sickly, and totally wheelchair bound. She was still active and involved in life. I suspect she must have been lonely often.



Her family still resided in Germany, and with her husbands poor health and limited resources it was unlikely that she would ever travel to Germany again. Her family did travel to see her on rare occasions, but for her a trip "home" was not in the cards. As I travel alot, I have spent some time in Germany. There was a candy she said she loved so I would get her bags of it each stop in Frankfurt. I also managed to bring home a collection or two of German Christmas music. In return she tried allways to bake a little something special. Most everything she brought to the house was eaten before I ever got so much as a bite.

Long ago her husband passed away, and still most days you could find her out in her small yard tending to her plants. Bent over at the waist, there she would be tending to whatever plant needed attention. We all had a passion for gardening, so it was not unusual for us all to share whatever cuttings or leftovers we had. She was always most appreciative of whatever was offered. It was a point of honor that she show you how whatever she had inherited was doing in her yard. It was not a large yard, but was well kept and pristine. Even when her arthritis got so bad that for days she would stay inside, always when the pain was gone (or at least lessened to bearable levels) she could be found back in her garden.

Eventually my mother-in-law moved in next door, and they shared some time together. In the words of Billy Joel "sharing a drink they call lonliness, but it's better than drinking alone...". Come to think of it, usually whenever Ms Landry was working in her yard somewhere by her feet was my daughters cat. Maybe she wasn't so all alone afterall?

We shared several Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners with her. She was always so enthusiastic and appreciative. Evidently her family had been quite musical as she always shared that they used to all sing and play different musical instruments together. She was always anxious to share in singing Christmas music. I remember her taking out her accordian and playing for us. There is something you do not see much anymore, an accordian virtuoso.

Today, sitting in the Leipzig train station watching the people coming home from work she was suddenly on my mind. Leipzig is no different than most cities in northern latitudes. It gets dark early, and fall is certainly in the air. Stilll, the German "flavor" is most evident. It is not so much what the people wear, it is their overall culture. The stores all have the beginnings of Christmas wares, and believe it or not, there is a difference in what we use to decorate or homes at Christmas. It is chilly outside, and the leaves are past their full fall color. There are still alot of leaves hanging from the trees, but the spaces between them is perpetually growing. The grip of any leaves left is tenuous. With each little whisp of a breeze you can hear the dried leaves rustling. That unique smell of fall is in everything. The train station was full of wonderful aromas. The many fruit markets, the different grills offering different brats and sausages were all filling the air with sweet smells of bounty. I sat there and wondered if she would find it familiar.

I sometimes think we can call the spirits of those we love to us by thinking of them...... I hope it is true. Wherever she is, I hope she knows she is fondly remembered. God bless her.