Christmas Story

            Everyone has a favorite Christmas story.  Here’s mine.

            It was December.   I was stressed out because, typically, I was behind.  I had essays to correct and student grades to figure to close the fall semester at Anderson High School, and I had too much to do to be ready for Christmas: cards to address, gifts to buy and wrap, food to prepare.  When the phone rang.  “Would you please play some carols at our Christmas program?” A kind voice asked.  “Our regular pianist is unable to come and our residents love this time of year.  Please come. We need you.” She sounded so desperate; I said, “Yes.”

            This request had come from a nursing home in another community and all the way I was kicking myself for saying I would come believing I was really just wasting my time.  My mood soured even more when I got lost before I arrived.  Dreary weather, dingy halls, shoddy Christmas decorations all added to my gloom.  Even the keys of the piano were covered with dust.

            I began to play carols as the residents filed into the room.  Six hymns later, I began “O Tannenbaum.” Suddenly I heard a voice singing – in German!  I glanced to my right.  There she was. I had not heard her arrive.

            A large woman, she wore a blue dressing gown.  Salt and pepper curls framed her wrinkled face as she sat, back straight, knees apart, hands folded in her lap made by her gown.  Staring straight ahead, she sang with a low alto tone.

            “Please sing louder,” I whispered.  Her voice had a warm grace, a soft winsomeness.  I wanted to hear more. She hardly glanced at me, but the German words became louder, more distinct.

            “Do you know the second verse?” I asked.

            She nodded and began.  Midway through, I looked at her.  Tears had formed in her eyes and dropped onto her folded hands. She never moved or attempted to wipe her tears away.  With each word her voice become more firm.

            Finished, she said with a decided German accent, “Every Christmas . . . I sang this. . . when I was a girl . . . in Germany . .  So long ago . . . So may memories. . . “Her voice trailed off, and then she smiled at me and said, “Thank you.”

            I don’t remember the program or anything else about that afternoon.  I don’t think she ever told me her name.  But I do remember that blue dressing gown, the folded hands and the falling tears.  Most of all, I remember the voice, scratched a little with age, but vital and alive, strengthened by her memories. 

            Renewed and uplifted, I drove home that day thanking God for how often He surprises us with wonderful blessings when we least expect them, especially at Christmas time.