Short Stories

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This morning, Christmas Eve of 1995, before going to church, I had been in a
cheerful mood and looked forward to the singing of carols. Our minister
mentioned how other congregations in the province celebrated Blue Christmas
for people for whom Christmas was a bad time. As I listened to the sermon, I
found myself becoming angry and depressed to the point where I tuned out the
sermon and started writing down my thoughts.

The Bible reading from Revelations related how a dragon, representing Satan, trying to kill a child before it was born (Revelations 12:4 R. S. V.) As well,
the passage from Matthew told about Herod killing the male children in
Bethlehem (Matthew 2:16, R. S. V.)

The somber mood of the congregation and the hostility I felt contrasted
with the joyful noises of the children below us in the basement who were singing
Jingle Bells and The Twelve Days of Christmas.

Earlier in the service we sang out two unfamiliar hymns as a sample of
something from the new hymn book being considered for purchase. There was
no organist so the minister's wife played the tunes on her recorder. I thought that the earliest Christians might have played music on their pipes as they tended their sheep. Perhaps one person had been the lead singer and sung the tune for others to learn and to follow so that they too might raise their voices in a joyful noise unto the Lord.

While I emjoyed the new music, I also felt angry. We should have been
singing the familiar Joy to the World, Oh Little Town of Bethlehem, or Silent
Night. I wanted the familiar traditions of Christmas, the Christmas gospel from
Luke. I had not come to church to be preached at or to be made to feel guilty.

My husband was surprised that I was writing. His thoughts were that I had
gotten an idea for my next writing class assignment, a version of the nativity
story told from an animal’s point of view.

I knew that Christmas was a hard time for many people who are ill,
bereaving or absent from home. I could relate to that since Mom had died just
after Christmas in 1984 and some years Christmas is hard to get through. I
believed that this was not just a blue Christmas, but a navy blue one.

I knew I should be paying more attention to the sermon, not writing things
down. I should be apologizing for the anger I felt.

Without warning and without explanation, my navy mood changed. An
inner voice seemed to tell me that yes, things were rough, but I could survive. I
had survived: Mom’s death, the deaths of her family members, the serious
illness of a TIA which could have crippled me. I felt a sense of peace.

I was drawn back to the minister's message. The carols and the presents
are only the curtain behind which the God’s promise is revealed. In times of
trouble, we can draw a facade over the problem or we can look for the real
message of Christmas. God sent His son to be human.

The inner voice said to me: “’Be thankful for the gifts you have: a
wonderful life partner and the ability to be able to put your thoughts into words.’”

I returned home still feeling dichotic. My little grey tabby sensed my
conflict. She purred and rubbed as if to say "Don't worry. I'm here."

I remembered the legend where the animals all came to see baby Jesus.
A rat sprang up on the manger to try to bite Jesus. A little tabby cat rat protected the baby and drove off the. His mother Mary laid her hand on the cat and blessed it in gratitude for saving Him. The legend tells that the all tabbies bear an “M” mark on their faces as an eternal reminder where Mary laid her hand in benediction. My grey cat is one of my most beloved gifts from God.

My Lord God, forgive me if doubts sometimes make me hesitate. I thank
you for the reminders of the blessings and happiness that have fulfilled my life.

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