The Gift of Love

SILENT NIGHT IN THE WIND

It was Christmas? It happened nearly 50 years ago, but what an impact on my memory. My dad is one in a million, but that Christmas he was one in a universe.

There were seven of us children, anticipating our Christmas Eve social, which was held annually in our little community. We were chattering and laughing incoherently even though this was our fist Christmas without Mama and money.

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As my dad helped us button our coats, my heart was singing. His was breaking. But his smile was deceiving. How well I remember him tenderly placing us on our long, homemade sleigh and pulling us to the church about a mile away. I remember him marching straight ahead with his shoulders back and chin up-I know now he was stepping off into something that took a lot of courage. As grown-ups, we draw on these memories s a source of strength. It was snowing. How good it felt on our faces. We held tight to each other, and above the church of snow beneath Father's feet, we could hear him softly whistling "Silent Night." Like magic, my unglued world was coming together.

How could a girl of nine, spilling with Christmas delight, possibly know the inner turmoil my care-worn dad was silently suffering? Mama had gone to the great Beyond that previous summer. She had been confined to her bed for three years. We were so poor, so dad had assumed all father-mother responsibilities, as well as being Mama's nurse. He would leave his blacksmith shop hourly to check on her and us kids. His patience and love for Mam were a beacon of inspiration to us. Many times I saw him affectionately carrying her in his strong arms.

I remember his standing me on a stool by our big round kitchen table and teaching me to mix bread. I also learned how to turn the handle of our old wooden churn, while anticipating the miracle that was always performed inside. I got quite proficient at working the butter with the old wooden paddle, then pressing it into the round mold. He taught me many household duties, but none as vivid as helping Mama. I was her feet. I carted her food and water and helped her bathe. I delivered handmade gifts all over the community-from Mama. I don't think she ever missed a birthday, a wedding or a new baby. Then came that June day, her birthday, when God gave her the blessed gift of relief. My dad was left to keep us alive physically, mentally and spiritually.

In August following Mama's death came our big fire. Our barns, sheds, straw and hay stacks, as well as our livestock were caught in the path of the fiery destruction leaving only a charred, smoldering heap. Fear and horror raced through my veins. But the most indelible part of all was my dad. While his world was crumbling to ashes, he was trying to rescue ours. He had a way of calming the tempest.

Now Christmas was upon him. We weren't even aware of how poor we were or of his Gethsemane. I felt his superior strength that night was he pulled the sleigh carrying his precious cargo.

The only thing I remember about the social was all the children clamoring to tell Santa what they wanted for Christmas. But the sleigh ride was an imprinted memory. It was special therapy that brought a kind of peace I hadn't known for years.

Later in our front room around our pot-bellied stove, Dad served us warm milk bread. Our little Christmas tree, brought from the nearby hills, adorned one corner. Strings of our home-raised popcorn made it the most beautiful tree I had ever seen or smelled.

Then dad told us he was ready to give us our Christmas gift. We thought he should wait until morning, but he in his wisdom knew now was the time. We sat in wonderment. Seven of us waiting for Dad's gift.

Then he started talking. His gift flowed freely and clear from his lips. He told us how much he loved us and how much we meant to him. Then he told us of the Christ child. Never have I heard such a story! He brought it to life! He gave it purpose and meaning. Why Webster couldn't define the beauty of the gift he planted in our hearts that night. That gift of love, gratitude and peace is still mine. The light and warmth of the room was curiously powerful. We felt Mama's presence. We learned that loving someone was far more important than having something. I knew the true meaning of Christmas? We knelt together in a most humble family prayer, and we thanked God for his gift to us the Savior of our world. Outside, the world was singing "Silent Night" as our dad tucked us in bed.

Christmas day was a most special day. Dad had made each of us a little gift and hung it on the tree while we slept. Our Christmas dinner consisted of home-cured bacon and milk gravy. And had a way of making a one-dish meal tasted like a seven course dinner. Our happiness knew no bounds. Many times since, my memory has been my Bethlehem star. I have heard "Silent Night" in the wind and have smelled bacon while my turkey was cooking. But best of all an occasional glimpse of Christ shining in my 90-year old father's face.