Wife: so what are you going to put into the Christmas letter this year?
Husband (to himself): I remember thinking that by April there was too much to say already. (out loud). We could talk about the death of our pet rat, Amy. I would begin the letter with the warm feeling of her being curled up in my hand. In her last days, she wanted only that comfort, a recognition of the strong ties that bind together the whole creation. I think we should mention the children's achievements also, graduation, European tours, their new CD recordings.
Wife: I could not speak of my feelings. I have no perspective. And why go on about triumphs? Will you neglect to mention X, or Y, or Z?
Husband: X who? I don't know who you are talking about.
Wife: X.
Husband: I beg your pardon.
Wife: X from the North Pole.
Husband: Oh, him. I had forgotten about him. And as for Y and Z, I remember Y often enough. (To himself) Alexander the coppersmith has done me much damage. May the Lord reward him for his works. How is it that I am so good at making enemies? And why can't I still tell my children's stories?
Wife: (as if hearing husband's thoughts) - we agreed three years ago that our newsletters should be about us, not about our children.
Husband: (To himself) there isn't anything for me to tell then. (Out loud) I suppose we could mention our trip to Greece and so on.
Wife: I would start with the sunshine last week at the Herb farm open house. And compare that to the Greek sun, and the sun in the lakes, and the view over the firth of Forth.
Husband: that is a good start. You are getting more poetic by the moment (only afterwards realizing the unintended sarcasm in that phrase). 1995, the year of the Greek salad.
A pause: and don't forget the view of the Baltic from Northern Germany.
Husband: why don't we write two letters back to back - and we won't even read each other's unless we get one in the mail. (that would be odd). I could write about the characters in my book - and how we met one of them - actually three of them, in Greece, three times no less: after the earthquake, drinking Ouzo and Metaxa overlooking the beach, and in the midst of the ruins of ancient Corinth. Tertius, my black slave from the year 0082, his wife, Ruth, and Kyrrah, the granddaughter of Simon of Cyrene. Maybe they had better wait for the book.
I could write about Y or about work - but why stress the difficulties of government funding or client relationships? No, it would be boring, even if it is an important lesson in covenants - but what part of life isn't? And Z is off limits too. Too much hope and forgiveness to be written about. Our foster daughter in the Philippines got married this year. That is good news. She, like Artemis, another character in my book, wants a baby. And our youngest son, (they are all adults now) spoke on the phone to his biological mother and knows his father to be alive and well also - that could be important and lasting news for him, a true touch with his origins. Does any of us really know where we come from? Where is home?
He came to his own creation, and we, his own people, did not receive him. But we do change our minds. And as many as received him, to them he gave power to know mercy, to become truly themselves, and to know where they have come from and where they are going ... (freely interpolated, Gospel of John 1:11-12 and 13:3).
Love to you all this Christmas and throughout the New Year - Bob