[This story is from my book, Christmas Memories from Seven to Seventy, available through www.amazon.com in paperback and also in a 3-Disc CD set of the entire book, "read by the author."]
This is a great way to start the Christmas season,” I said as we
drove along I-75 in deep South Georgia. “Heading for Florida
with both of us half-sick.”
“Ted seemed to think it was pretty important that you get there
before Christmas,” Pansy replied from the back seat where she was
tending four-month-old Jonathan.
Ted was senior pastor of the church in Central Florida where
I was to serve as minister of religious education. We were on the
way to our new town and my new work.
“Yeah,” I said. “He wants us to start getting acquainted with
folks in the congregation in the round of holiday festivities. But
the week before Christmas is a terrible time to move, even in the
best conditions. Much less with you just getting over strep and me
bordering on pink eye.”
“We’ll make the most of it,” she said, with a smile. “But
we’re going to be the last minute getting a tree up and finishing
shopping.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Russell’s old enough this year to enjoy his
presents more than he did last Christmas when he was just two.”
I realized I was talking as if Russell were miles away instead
of on the seat beside me. He brought me back to the present and
presents when he asked, “What am I getting?”
“Hey!” I said. “You’ll have to wait a few more days to find out.
We’ll have Christmas in Florida this year when we get all moved
in.”
“When will we get to Florida?” he asked.
“It won’t be long,” I assured, knowing that my “not long” would
seem considerably longer to him than his “not long.”
Moving the conversation back to the adult level, Pansy said, "It's
hard leaving our own house in Atlanta and having to move into the church’s old house while our new house is being built.”
“Well, at least, we won’t have to pay rent while we’re waiting to get into the new house,” I said. “I’m just glad the church had the
house available.”
“But I hate to leave the first house we’ve ever owned,” she said.
“Us and the mortgage company,” I said.
“That house on McLendon was still our first house, after we had lived in apartments from the time we got married,” she said,
sounding as if she thought I didn’t quite appreciate the significance
of our leaving it behind.
Not willing to get off the reality jag, I said, “Unless we sell the
Atlanta house soon, we, along with two mortgage companies, will
own two houses.”
“Too true,” she said with a sigh. “But we haven’t had a chance to
look over this Florida house to figure out where to set up Jonathan’s
crib and what kind of room Russell will have and how the rest of
our furniture is going to fit the space.”
“And, just think,” I said. “Right now, that furniture is in a moving
van somewhere along this very stretch of interstate, following us to
Central Florida. It might be passing us any minute now.”
“Or maybe it’s on the same truck with some furniture going to Oregon or Montana which gets unloaded before ours,” Pansy
said.
“Now that’s a happy thought,” I said.
“Where’s Montana?” Russell wanted to know.
I said, “It’s way out west.”
“Are they taking our furniture way out west, Mom?”
“No, no, little love.”
“But you said…”
“I was just wishing we were already in our new house in Florida,” she explained.
“You said we’re going to live in an old house,” Russell said.
“We are, for a while,” Pansy said. “But we can all hope our new
house will get all built soon so we can move in and have a brand
new place to live.”
As the afternoon went along, we fell into silence. Russell had a
coloring book. Pansy was keeping Jonathan dry and well fed. I fell
into reflection:
It seemed the three of us were full of hopes and fears: hopes for
a new start in a new town and fears of the new and different as we
were leaving the familiar behind us. I thought of those contrasting
emotions and realized they are linked in the carol: “The hopes and
fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.” My private thoughts
continued. “I guess every generation is caught up in that mixture
of hopes and fears. If we remind ourselves of the hope of the
Christmas promise, that can push the fears away.”
About supper time, we arrived in our new town and found the motel where the church had arranged for us to stay for our first night or so as Florida residents.
Pansy and I were eager to see our temporary home, so while she settled the boys into the motel room, I called Ted and told him
we were in town. He said he would be over shortly.
When he arrived, I hardly gave him time for the pleasantries about whether we’d had a nice trip and hoping the motel room was
satisfactory before I raised the issue of seeing the house.
“When can we go over to the house where we’ll be staying?” I asked. “We need to see it before the moving van gets here so we
can map out where everything will go.”
“Actually, the house isn’t quite ready,” Ted began.
“We need to see it tonight.”
“A group of folks from the church is over there, even as we speak,” he said. “They’re mopping and sweeping and dusting for you so you won’t have to worry about that. We can go over there first thing in the morning.”
I looked at Pansy, knowing that, in her deliberate way of doing
things, she needed to see the place and mentally put together a
master plan, rather than rushing over the next morning, not knowing exactly when the movers would get there.
She didn’t say anything, but I did: “Ted, we really have to see
it tonight.”
“But the clean-up committee isn’t through yet,” he said, exuding
patience in every syllable.
“Couldn’t we just go by and get an idea of the floor plan?” I pleaded. “We really, really need to see the house at least a few
minutes tonight!!”
He sensed my urgency. It would have been hard to miss.
“I’ll go over there and see how things are coming,” he said.
Pointing to the phone in the motel room, I asked, “Couldn’t you call?”
“The phone hasn’t been connected over there,” he said. “You’ll
need to take care of that with the phone company. I’ll go over and
check with the committee.”
“I’ll go with you,” I said, eager to get this process moving.
“Why don’t you stay here with Pansy and the boys. You all can eat supper at the restaurant next door. The church has arranged to take care of your meals while you’re here at the motel.”
Seeing disappointment written all over my face, Ted said, “It would be better if you stayed here. The clean-up crew might feel unduly pressured if you showed up while they were still making the house more livable for you.” He paused as if to let that sink in. Then, “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
How could I argue with that?
We had finished supper when the pastor returned with good news: “They’ve just about finished, so you can see your transitional
dwelling tonight. You all ride with me.”
He chauffeured us to the house. As we pulled up in the back yard, Pansy and I both noticed several trees with fruit. “What kind of trees are those?” we both asked.
“You’ll have your own little citrus grove,” Ted said. “There are
two or three orange trees and a lemon and a grapefruit.”
“Russell!” Pansy exclaimed. “Did you hear that? We have oranges growing right in our back yard!”
“Can I get one?” he asked.
We all got out of the car, and Ted reached into the branches of a tree. He pulled an orange and said, “Here’s an orange… just for
you… a present to welcome you to Florida.”
He handed the fruit to Russell, who took it and held it in both
hands.
As we went up to the back door, I wondered to myself, “Why is
he bringing us in through the back of the house?” Before I had time
to brood over that question, one of the deacons, whom we had met
on our exploratory visit with the church, opened the back door. He
shook our hands and reintroduced himself. Once we were inside a
small ante room, he pointed to a door next to the kitchen.
“You might want to look in this room first,” the deacon said.
Again, I was puzzled as to why we would start by looking in a small back room, but we opened the door to discover a pantry filled with canned veggies and staple goods.
“The folks at church wanted to give you a good old-fashioned
pounding to help you with groceries and tide you over till you have a chance to get acquainted with our local grocery stores,” the
deacon said.
Pansy and I were speechless as we looked at each other.
Embarrassed at my impatience on arrival, I didn’t know whether to
laugh or cry or just apologize.
I sputtered and stuttered, “This – this is wonderful. I’m – I’m at
a loss for words.” Turning to the pastor, I said, “When I insisted on
seeing the house tonight, I –I didn’t have any idea…”
“Of course you didn’t,” he said. “We’re glad we gave you a real
surprise.”
Genuinely pleased as well as surprised, Pansy recovered her voice and said, “There are enough basics to last us for weeks. This is certainly generous, and you’re right. It will be a big help while
we’re learning our way around town and getting accustomed to the
different grocery stores.”
We were ushered through the kitchen and into the room which
would become our dining area.
“You’ve mopped and swept and dusted all right. And then some,” I said, still overwhelmed at what the church had done.
Looking toward the corner of the dining room, Pansy exclaimed,
“There’s a crib that’s all set up!”
“Why not lay Jonathan in it to see how he likes it?” one of the women on the committee suggested. “There’s still more of the
house to see.”
Pansy placed Jonathan on the bed and gave him his bottle. “That
ought to keep him happy for a few minutes,” she said, pulling a
blanket over him and patting the bed.
“This will save us some time and effort,” she continued. “You’re
so very helpful. Things will get pretty busy when the van gets here
tomorrow.”
The deacon who was serving as our tour guide grinned and said, “Let’s look at the rest of the house.”
We saw a soft glow as we stepped toward the big front room which stretched all across the front of the house.
“Oh, my goodness!” I gasped as I saw the source of the glow.
In a corner of the room, a tree reached to the ceiling, its fragrance
filling the room. The tree was fully decorated with lights and
ornaments. Several colorfully wrapped presents were under it.
Russell dashed to the tree. He dropped his orange to the floor and forgot it as it rolled under the tree amid the presents. He gazed at the flickering lights as if in a trance, then fell to his knees and began to examine each package.
With our anxiety swept away by this kindness, I also temporarily
forgot about my potential pink eye, and Pansy seemed to have
gotten over her strep.
I tried to find words to thank the church members who had put
these surprises together: “Well, you certainly have cleaned up this
house, and I’d say we’ve really cleaned up as well, if you know
what I mean.”
As I looked into an array of friendly, smiling faces, I said again, but with different meaning, “This is a great way to start the Christmas season.”
