A PLACE CALLED CHRISTMAS  (reprinted from Castro Valley’s Neighborhood Church’s 2009 winter women’s ministry newsletter Redeemed)

 
Though I have known hardship, and unspeakable pain, I have never known a place without Christmas; the hopeful longing, the joyful anticipation, and the flickering lights that burn bright in a child’s memory.  I can’t recall a time without the glad tidings that abound this time of year, and no matter what sorrows befell a family or a nation, there was always that sense of wonder and awe as I witnessed the picturesque nativity scene, or gazed into the maze of December’s gardens.

The ideal converges with the real in a place called Christmas; early America portrayed in picture perfect postcards with rustic cabins, carolers, and streetlamps in the snow.

Real life memories come to mind. Christmas Eve in the spirit of my Grandmother’s native Genoa was relived with some likeness, yet with each generation there is a watering down.  Midnight mass with its heavily draped pomp and drawn out Latin was a bit severe as I felt drenched in a black smoking inferno of incense: even so, the exhilaration could not be stifled. In my life I have been at crucial crossroads, and often at a crippling loss to resolve or understand the spiritual battle within. After my conversion from the world of dark to a saving knowledge, I still don’t quite fathom the puzzle of salvation, and the reconciliation of a baby King with a blood stained wooden cross, but now I believe that the word of God is true, no matter how I feel, or think, on any given day.
As a Catholic, I first heard of the triune God; the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. As rays of brilliant sunlight streamed into the stuffy dark cathedral, I witnessed the Stations of the Cross in colored sections of stained glass. I watched as my Father lit tiny candles, and my Mother dipped her slender hand in the holy water.
Somewhere along the way, I tasted from the the bitter cup of betrayal. I down-spiraled for a time, so alone in my vacuum of pain and isolation. In spite of my wanderings, during the harsher seasons without visible sunlight, God’s hand was there amid the dark pages of my youth. Through the prayers of my Mother, my sister, those I encountered in my searching, and through the intercession of angels, (my own guardian angel included), I came back to the sacred heart of Jesus, and to a place called Christmas.
Never far from a Mother’s prayer, a child’s cry, or the genuine repentant prayer of even the most desperate of humans, our Savior stands in the line of fire between us and the enemy of our souls; he stands at the right hand of the Father, our advocate, pleading our case, over and over yet redeeming us from hell’s fire, once and for all by his shed blood.
He reigns, the sole victor, dispelling the flaming arrows of myths, disbelief, confusion and all dominions of darkness. I can honestly say that because of God’s amazing grace and the power of his redemptive love, I never knew for long, an apathetic heart devoid of holy passion and a noble purpose. I say to you, to myself and all, Choose this day whom you will follow. Beyond that, choose this minute whose allegiance, and mastership you will pledge yourself to that you may always know in fullness, a place called Christmas.