Joy of Giving

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The joy of brightening other lives, bearing each others' burdens, easing other's loads and supplanting empty hearts and lives with generous gifts becomes for us the magic of Christmas. ~ W.C. Jones

An angel of Christmas past came today, reminding me of the pure joy of being there for another.  I have dwelt in the memories of Bill at Christmas too long, leaving little to no room for other memories to intrude.  Today, I have opened my heart to other memories.  These precious gems that persuade a smile on my lips and infuses my person with the peace of the season.

 

When I was a young girl living on my own, Christmas wasn't always easy.  Barely enough money to pay rent and feed myself, there wasn't always money left over to come home for the holidays.  On that first Christmas away from home, I joined the church choir to help ward off the loneliness.  Many hours were spent in practice and in fellowship rehearsing for Christmas services.  Some of the older women had even adopted me, inviting me to share a meal or two in their home.  After a few weeks, the conductor started handing out solos.  Not looking for, nor expecting a solo, I was truly taken aback when my name was called out of a 100 member choir.  I was both so very frightened and thrilled at the same time.  I was to sing one of my mother's favourites - Oh Holy Night.

 

On the Sunday before Christmas Eve, the choir assemble after service for a last rehearsal and to pick up our robes.  We went through the entire rehearsal and I truly felt that I was in the presence of a choir of angels.  We ate together, shared gifts and all looked forward to Christmas services.

At the end of the festivities, I shared with the organist that I was a little apprehensive of singing the solo in such a large church as well as it being my first Christmas away from home.  I  was concerned that I might get caught up in the moment and that my voice would crack with emotions.  I was dedicating my song to my mother who would surely be singing in the choir back home.  He invited me to stay a little longer to sing as if my mother was sitting there.
 

As we climbed to the loft, I noticed my heart becoming quiet and still.  Waiting for the organ to fire up, I looked down and soaked in the scene of coloured sun rays warming the altar and the beautiful scenes portrayed by the stained glass windows.  I closed my eyes and imagined my mother sitting in the front pew, head bent in prayer.  The organ struck my cue and I began with a timid voice at first but growing bolder as the pipes carried my song in prayer.  My last note chased a tear down my cheek and I was suddenly filled with the Spirit.  My Christmas prayer answered.

 

Walking home alone after Christmas Eve service, I was not sad nor lonely.  I felt blessed knowing that our voices had been a gift to another who might be lonely on that Christmas Eve night!