What is the true meaning of Christmas?
Can it be found in the family?
Or is it in the selfishness I require?
Until the taste of me
Has quenched every desire.
I woke up Christmas morning and walked into the living room of our downtown apartment. My sister asked again, “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” Resentment stirred more than the cup of tea I was preparing. I snarled a demanding, “NO!” Sadly, she conceded with a low-toned “Ok.”
The door shut, and all was quiet. It was Christmas, and I was alone. Away from my family, who all traveled the empty highways to arrive at our yearly meeting place, ready to enjoy the fellowship and festivities.
But I would not be there; that would show them. I was determined to punish my mother.
Poinsettias and pine did not suffice the season’s greeting that was waning. The instant meal I prepared only solidified that I would not be eating sweet potato casserole or fresh butter beans this Christmas. But I had my pride; that was enough.
Later that evening, with street lights glowing and Christmas trees shining from windows, my sister returned to our apartment with a large sack full of presents; tagged with my name. I found no delight as I opened each one. Each package, though beautifully wrapped and full of thoughtfulness might as well have been empty. Guilt tried to rise in my heart, however, I quickly relived the confrontation from a few days prior and justified my anger.
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At the time, I was a leasing consultant for an apartment complex. Saturday morning arrived, and I had to work. Sitting behind the desk, our maintenance man walked in. We had some apartments that needed work, so he came to get the job done without interruption. He was an older gentleman with a soft demeanor. As conversation would have it, he asked me how my Christmas was. Without hesitation, I overflowed the episode to his ears, hoping he would sanction my animosity and applaud my right to be right.
I watched as this older man grew sorrowful the more I talked. When I came up for air, he plopped down in the chair across from my desk, saying nothing. Tears stung his eyes. I had my arms crossed, and anger flashed from my eyes as if I had just relived the blistering argument all over again.
He looked at me and whispered, “Go see your mother when you get home. Make things right.” A lump was growing in my throat, and my resentment was quickly losing steam. He finished with, “It doesn’t matter what the quarrel was about. That is your mother. You apologize and fix it.”
Earlier the next week, I recanted what had happened to my boss. The more I talked, the wider her eyes became. I finally asked, “Why the stunned expression?” She uttered, “Oh, Kristen, his mother died a few years ago, and there were many things left unsaid.”
It took me a little time to gather the courage to see my mother. Nonetheless, I did it. I apologized because I was wrong, no matter how “justified” I felt. Although hurt, my mother forgave me the moment I asked. It took a few awkward outings between us to get back to our normal flow of conversation, but God healed both of our hearts. The years have proved to be sweeter than any pride I thought I needed to carry.
Respect was not based upon my feelings or my address; my mother’s role over me earned it. It demanded my obedience, not my opinion.
My younger days were fiery. I toted an arrogance around with me that weighed more than I did. I thought everything was about me. Through the love of family and the gentle correction of Jesus, I realized life was about others, not myself.
I asked my mother if she remembered this horrible escapade. She said, “Sis. You know the Lord has been good to me. I asked him long ago to remove those unpleasant things from my remembrance and fill them with pleasantries, for at Jesus’ right hand there are pleasures forevermore (Psalm 16:11).” I smiled as she told me this, for I too cannot remember the details. Truth be told, I would rather forget it altogether. But if that were so, I couldn’t write the story.
I like what Corrie Ten Boone said, “I don’t remember it, but I distinctly remember forgetting it.”
A hardened heart towards others will create a callused heart towards God. Anger, resentment, and unforgiveness will crowd out His voice, and you will find yourself where I did years ago – alone at Christmastime.
God’s word is a powerful deterrent against sin, but if we refuse to open the Bible, sin quickly sets up housekeeping in our hearts. God will also use people to help guide us towards obedience to Him, but it is our choice to obey.
The blessing of the Lord is located along the pathway of obedience.
It was nothing more than a brief encounter with the maintenance man that began to chip away at the stone that had become my heart. Don’t ignore that still, small voice on the inside whispering forgiveness to you.
Did she wear her Sunday dress another year or do without new twelve-dollar linoleum to buy Cynthia? I wouldn’t be surprised if it were so. And as I smile at my treasured doll and yet another Christmas Eve, I am filled with gratitude for my mother’s tireless work to “make Christmas” for her family.
– Ellen Carter Clark
Yes, forgiveness must be what Christmas is all about. Or is it?
