Time Of Light

Standard

We have taken down the old tree from the attic. This small, four foot tree made of aluminum was purchased forty nine years ago in Bangkok, Thailand, where there were no Christmas trees to be had. Each year since we have assembled it vowing that next year we would get a real tree. We never will, of course, because this old tree is part of our history as a family.

All across the world families are bringing out parts of their history. Menorahs are lovingly polished, Kwanzaa candles set out, crèches are lifted carefully from storage boxes. Whatever name given to the occasion, it is a time for the gathering of family and friends.

It’s been said that this joyful, festive time is full of anticipation for children while for adults there is memory, so I suppose it’s natural to look back across the years. Flickering through the shadow box of Time, I can see myself small, eyes wide open at midnight, waiting, determined that this year I was going to see Santa slide down that chimney. But… how did he get past me to fill my stockings? And… now, the warm scents of a fireplace and the sound of my Dad attempting to sing a carol…

Memory is a wonderful time machine. It can transport me in a blink-flash of time from my own childhood to that of our boys. There they are, noses pressed to the window convinced that the marks out in the snow came from Santa’s sleigh. Seconds later, they are grown and married men, and our oldest son and our new daughter have surprised us by coming home on Christmas day! And then here is a baby, our first grandchild, trailing tinsel as he toddles about with a red ribbon in his hair…

Small, crumpled ribbon,

I remember who wore it

Many years ago!

Such memories are our most prized ornaments. There are others, equally precious but bittersweet.  At this time of year I most keenly miss the dear ones I have lost. I crave that hug, yearn to hear that familiar laughter. The hand I once held is no longer here, and though I smile to remember the happy times we shared, at the back of the mind is the thought that memories are now all I have. No wonder that this is not a joyful time for many who wait for news in hospital rooms, or wonder how to pay next month’s bills, or worry about loved ones in harm’s way far from home. Then, there is our world, our imperfect, damaged world where some nations struggle with debt and other nations are ravaged by war or famine or poverty. How to reconcile these realities with holiday songs of peace and good cheer?

Well, we do our level best, and sometimes we succeed. This year, I’ve heard of children saving their allowances to buy toys for other kids, of anonymous donors who pay off layaway items for families that have come upon hard times. The rest of us donate what we can in time and goods and money, take home hopeful slips tacked to ‘angel trees.’ We sing the remembered songs, open gifts, hold loved ones close as we light our candles.

For isn’t the blessing of this time really about light? The light of Hanukkah candles remembering oil that bravely burned in ancient lamps; the brilliance of a star shining over humble Bethlehem; the glow of Kwanzaa candles with their message of the seven principles.  Their light says that our hearts must lift and sing with this hope:  someday there will be healing and homecoming and joy for all, the world will truly be one family, and the lion can finally lie down with the lamb.

Advertisements

About Maureen C. Wartski

I’m Maureen Wartski, writer, artist, wife, mother, grandmother; you can see that I have many of the bases covered. I was born in Ashiya, Japan, a (then) small town which lay cradled between sea and mountains. In the evenings, we would walk along the road that ran past Osaka Bay, and a great moon would rise out of the water to turn the world to silver. I’m told that my first words were, “Big moon!” All my life I have felt the tug to write something, draw something, put together something with fabric, string and color, and the urge to create has grown through the years. I suppose, then, that it’s a natural thing that this blog be full of the things that so many of you enjoy doing…drawing, making something with fabric, and writing. Yuri's Brush with Magic, my newest book for middle schoolers follows the adventures of a brother and sister, the magic of words, and the incredible magic of the natural world. I'd love to hear from you! You can send me a note at: maureen@wartski.org/ My blog is here: https://maureenwartski.wordpress.com/ Or friend me on Facebook!

5 responses »

  1. Lovely post, Maureen. Almost every ornament on our Christmas tree is a gift, so as we decorate the tree, we remember our family and friends. We tell stories of where *this* snowflake and *that* mitten came from. Wishing you all the blessings of the season and into the New Year.

  2. Maureen,
    I hope your Christmas was merry and bright, dear friend. I never thought about the contrast between anticipation and memories in this way. Thanks for another terrific post.

    Linda A.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s