by Luanna Cheney
Mixed Blessings
“Just as the singing ended, in a moment
of hushed reverence, four silent feet pur-
posely headed for the tree. Cat! I couldn’t
believe it. Her proud head was high, and
from her mouth dangled a gray-and-white-
HRISTMAS MEMORIES are pared to listen as Dad read the Christmas striped kitten. He was an exact replica of his
C
often a mixture of pain and story from the Book of Luke. Next we mom. We all stared in silent wonder.
joy.” Dad sighed softly after would sing a few carols and end in a Before we could regain our voices, she came
making that statement. I prayer of thanksgiving. with the second kitten. This one was a
had just asked him if there “To me it seemed unthinkable to sing solid-gray fluff ball. Mom began to hum . . .
was one special Christmas in his child- and give praise to God on such a bleak hum and laugh all at once. Dad had tears
hood that stood out in his memory. By day. I remember Mom pulling her well- on his face. The lump in my throat felt
the glint in his eyes and the undefinable patched shawl tighter and holding the larger than the orange I longed for earlier.
emotions that swept across his face, I ends with clenched fists. Dad’s voice, The third, striped with a patch of white by
knew that, once more, he would make while reading from Luke, lacked the her nose, was the last of her kittens.
history live in our imaginations, that his intensity of years past. At times it became “Each had been placed beneath the
memory would soon be mine as well. so soft I had trouble catching the words. tree as her gift to us. Comic, wobbly legs
“There were many days I resented the “My mind wandered back to Cat, and heads danced before our eyes. The
fact that Dad was a poor preacher and we who, big in her first pregnancy, had dis- moment they found each other and inter-
often had to do without,” he began. “The appeared nearly a week ago. My compan- twined in the familiar warmth of family,
year I was 10 was the hardest for me . . . ion and little friend had been taken from their pitiful, weak crying ceased and they
and everyone else too, I guess. Being a me. Not only were there no presents quickly went to sleep. Cat came to me, sat
farming community we were usually under the tree, there was loss and sadness at my feet, and proudly watched her con-
blessed with food rather than money. to add to the misery I felt. Was God tribution to my most memorable Christ-
That year there was little of both. Even responsible for my pain? In spite of guilt mas ever.
the stockings that hung by the fire were over blaming God, I felt anger begin to “No presents beneath the tree? One of
empty! At the very least there had always burn within me. After all, what had Dad God’s smaller creatures gave us the good
been an orange in my stocking.” ever done but love and serve God? news in a way that would build our faith,
Glancing at the ceiling he continued. “A tear escaped, its wetness surprising increase our hope, and make us aware of
“We sat in a semicircle before the tree. me. I realized Mom and Dad were singing. our ‘Presence-perfect Christmas.’”
There wasn’t a single present sitting Reluctantly I joined in. The sweet smile on
beneath the green branches. Handmade Mother’s face seemed so out of place. She Luanna Cheney recalls Christmases past in
cards had been exchanged, and we pre- and Dad were holding hands as they sang. Northfield, Minnesota.
My Most Memorable Christmas • James E. Cossey
Dad’s Favorite Christmas
James E.
THE YEAR WAS 1993. My parents had come from their home in Arkansas to spend Christmas with our fam-
Cossey
ily in Alabama. Dad had been ill for some time, suffering from an aortic aneurysm that was slowly growing and
serves as
ticking away in his abdomen like a hidden time bomb. Although he didn’t feel well, we all had a wonderful time.
editor in chief
On Christmas morning, as was our tradition, we opened our gifts, I read the Christmas story from the Bible,
of Church
and then, impulsively, I went around the room asking each person to tell about their favorite Christmas (I have
of God
it all on video).
Publications.
I started by telling mine, then one by one, everyone shared. For some reason, Dad was last, but his response
is the only one I remember. He said, “My favorite Christmas is this Christmas, because we are here together.” A
few short months later, on September 4, 1994, while visiting in the home of my brother and his wife, the
aneurism ruptured, and my dad died instantly.
Christmas 1993 was Dad’s last Christmas with us. He said it was his favorite. Now it is mine!
EVANGEL • DEC 2008 13
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