I am in a private social media group for self-care after a certain age. The upcoming holidays are fast approaching, and Christmas is already a hot topic of conversation within the group. One of the most recent questions posed by an anonymous member was, “What self-care items would you like to find in your Christmas stocking?”
Curious, I scrolled down a sampling of the answers: a skein of yarn, a new book, a shaving kit, chocolates, coffee, a magazine subscription, plane tickets, flower seeds, fuzzy socks, perfume, gift certificates, and Chapstick, of course.
But other answers caught more than my curiosity… they took my breath away. “A note from my estranged daughter asking if we could get together.” Further down the list, another wrote, “A card from my sister telling me she forgives me.” Followed by someone who replied, “A visit from my son and newborn granddaughter.”
Then there were a few who answered with a such stripped-down vulnerability that I wished they were before me so I could offer them a hug or a listening ear.
“I still hang my son’s stocking up even though he died in a car accident two years ago. He once joked that I would one day be an old man who still put those hideous chocolate gold coins in his stocking at Christmas. He was right. I still do, except now I’m the only one who eats them.”
“This will be the first year that I’ll have no one in my life to fill my stocking. I thought about filling it myself, but I’m still not sure.”
“My wife used to make the sweetest coupons and put them in my stocking, anything from her cooking my favorite meal to giving me a back rub. She passed in a memory care facility not too long ago. Towards the end, she didn’t recognize me. I miss everything about her. Every single day. Everything about her.”
When I finished scrolling, I was left with a blank space to fill in my answer. The empty space seemed more like an appropriate response than any words I could string together. I have experienced almost 50 Christmases, and I have done everything from helping cut down a Griswold-sized family Christmas tree to racing lobsters on the kitchen floor before putting them in the pot. I don’t recall what was in my stocking as a child except for candies and oranges. I suspect there was more, but those memories don’t seem to have the same sticking power as remembering the feeling of being where I wanted to be most — with them.
“With them” becomes more challenging as we age. Sometimes family units split. Many have lost one or both parents. Traveling is hard for kids with kids and several homes to visit. Personalities may clash as well as schedules, and we often notice the chairs that are empty as much as the ones that are filled.
For several years, I was one of the announcers for a special Christmas event for people who had lost a loved one due to suicide or homicide. I would call out the name of the individual who had passed, and a family member would come to the front and place an ornament in their memory on a tree. I recall one being a homemade ornament of a child’s handprint in light blue paint; another, a monogrammed soccer ball. Then there was a square framed mini wedding photo, followed by a fishing lure carried to the front by a tall man who hung it with a shaking hand on a high branch. I remember that lure shimmering under the lights for the remainder of the ceremony.
After the ceremony, we would gather for a small reception. I would try to meet each family whose case I helped with, but inevitably, someone would stop me and begin talking. I never got to everyone, but I soon realized that was not the point. The point was to serve the ones God put in front of me. That was never clearer to me than when I was stopped abruptly by a man in an ill-fitting suit who looked disheveled and angry. I did not recognize him. We had never met. Yet, he insisted on getting into my personal space and stopping me.
“You know,” he said, pointing a finger in my face. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” I positioned myself to face him squarely. I looked him in the eyes, and I could tell those eyes had cried themselves dry. I stood in calm silence and let him continue.
“I told her that boyfriend of hers was no good. She didn’t believe me. She thought she could help him. They broke up. But he returned a week later to her apartment, and she let him in the door.” His voice rose. “She LET him in the door!” I knew the rest of the story without him having to finish. “Do you know the only thing I have left to remember her by? Do you?”
“No, sir. I don’t. Tell me.”
“Her cat. Her damn cat. And I don’t even like cats.”
I reached out and held his hand. He gave my hand a tight squeeze before letting it go. “My daughter had red hair just like you,” he said. He gave me a long stare before turning away and walking out the door. I don’t know how long I remained where I was before moving, but there are some moments I feel like I am still standing before him. I felt his pain. I still do.
This is the first Christmas I will be without many things that were once familiar. Due to an unfortunate divorce at the beginning of this year, my unit is separated for the first time in over 20 years. Even though my kids are adults, they, too, feel the ripple effect of change. One child I am unsure of their schedule, one will be in another state over the holidays, and one is in the military in a different country. I have no stockings to hang. No meals to prepare. No place settings to set, popcorn to string, or anyone to help me pick out a tree. But I do have something new this year: a cat.
I can still feel the strength of the stranger’s squeeze upon my hand in the reception hall. It was as if he was trying to hold on as best as he could and doubted his ability. Even more, he was feeling very alone. Since my divorce, I have felt similar. I have seen the damage of enough whitewashed-tombed Pharisees to recognize and appreciate the kindness of faithful and humble Believers. Change never comes easy, and sometimes it is even harder to accept. But I know Who goes before my family and me and trust the One who hems us in.
I returned to the blank space on the social media site and typed in my answer to the question: “I have a new kitty. I’m getting him a stocking and filling it with toys and treats. I’m also going to pick a new stocking for myself and fill it with a bookmark and a new book, maybe a yellow journal, paintbrushes, and Chapstick, of course.”
As we enter the holiday season, may we be mindful that people are going through much more than we perceive. The best we can do is love people as Jesus loves. Never assume. Many are trying to hold on as best as they can and doubt their ability.
Christmas is meant to celebrate the coming of the Savior of the world. Because of Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection, we are saved by grace. May we be mindful of offering grace to others. Grace is more than a prayer… it is a way of supporting one another in Christ-like love. May this be the gift we offer to whomever God puts before us this season.
Tiffany Kaye Chartier
SGLY, dear reader.
(Smile, God Loves You.)
Tiffany Kaye Chartier, Author 