Faith Through the Journey

As I’m watching the holiday classic movie, “White Christmas”, I can’t help but think about my dad. He and my mom saw it in the theater when it first came out, and when it began to show up on TV around Christmas, he made sure he knew when it would be on. He knew many of the lines as well, repeating them and laughing at some of the more absurd scenes, particularly the one where Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye did the “Sisters” number! When VCRs came out, he taped the movie so we could always watch it. He knew it was my favorite movie and whenever I visited my parents, he always offered to set it up so I could watch it after they went to bed. Whether it was actualy Christmas or the middle of July, he wanted to make sure I had a chance to see the movie. This tradition continues today with my own children, for they too enjoy the movie and know the lines and songs as well! In fact, when we recently visited our daughter in Connecticut, while we celebrated Christmas early, we of course watched “White Christmas”!

My dad loved Christmas, enjoying it every bit as much as the children, first his own and then his grandchildren. Like most men, Dad found it a great excuse to be a kid again himself! Whether it was putting together toys half the night before or getting out the 8mm movie camera to save every memory, Dad delighted in all of it. One particular Christmas I remember a unique memory I shared with my dad: going to the emergency room to get my wrist x-rayed from a fall I’d had a few days prior to Christmas Day. When I tried to ride my new bike, I couldn’t steer it because it turned out that my wrist was, in fact, broken. The bike riding had to be put off for a few weeks while my wrist healed!

Dad always read the Christmas story to us from the Bible, the book of Luke, on Christmas Eve. He made sure we never forgot the real reason we were celebrating. Dad died just 6 weeks before Christmas in 2002, and even though our family was together, we felt his absence very keenly. Eleven years later, our memories have become sweeter and the pain has faded. For years, the Steven Curtis Chapman song “Going Home for Christmas” brought me to tears, but I can now picture Dad singing with the angels in heaven on Christmas and smile rather than cry. We’ll always miss him, but his legacy lives on in the lives of his family and we have the hope of heaven and celebrating with him in the presence of Jesus.