At the age of thirty-four (with only two months remaining
until I turn thirty-five), perhaps it is time to grow up. I mean, I’m not only
of legal age to drink, and drive, and vote but I am married, I do file taxes
and now I’m pregnant. But according to Haley, my roommate in Texas, you don’t
have to actually grow up until you purchase a vacuum cleaner. And since I
haven’t done that yet, I’m holding out.
I always knew in life there comes a time when you can’t go
home for Christmas. I made that transition with my birthday and with
Thanksgiving, but I hadn’t come to that crossroads with Christmas…until this
year. And when I found out the truth, I spent half the day crying. I was hoping
it would be the one thing in my life that didn’t have to change this year. Much
of my life these past six months has felt uprooted and tossed into a foreign
city where I can’t seem to find a place to even dig a hole for my drying roots.
But Ed works in retail. And I’m pregnant – so that didn’t help the fact that I
cry at lots of things these days so I just couldn’t stop the tears.
After church that evening, I felt a bit better about it all
despite a stray tear here and there. A man giving a missionary report (who is a
former missionary himself) commented that we should remember those who have
given up the places of their comfort, their jobs and even their families to go
where God has called them – a strange place where they don’t even speak the
same language. I, by no means, measure up to the level of a missionary but it
rang very true in my own life and I tried to view my new, strange place as
where God has called me for some reason I don’t yet know.
And, I do what I do best, threw my thoughts into planning a
nice Christmas for just Ed and I in our little place in Pittsburgh. What should
we have for dinner? What games should we play? What movie should we fall asleep
in front of? By Wednesday, I had adjusted myself to the idea that I would not
see my family for Christmas and, even though I wouldn’t get through the
holiday without some tears, everything would be fine.
Then I got home from work and Ed said he had a Christmas
gift for me. He wanted to give it to me early – had to give it to me early –
just wasn’t sure how early. On a scale, Ed isn’t a gift-giver. It’s just not
him. But he has thrown himself into seeking gifts for me for Christmas a little
too much. I had given him cash and told him that was his limit, but now my mind
wandered to the emptying checking account as we wait for his paycheck at the
end of this week and wondered what check was about to bounce. But I didn’t say
that – yet. I just told him it was up to him.
He thought for a moment and then said, “I’m taking you home
for Christmas.”
It was one of those moments of wonder and I just stared at
him. He shrugged, said he had been talking to his bosses at work about how
disappointed I was not to go home and they said it wouldn’t hurt anything if he
had the weekend off. So, he took it.
And I cried. More tears that wouldn’t stop. I’m going home
for Christmas.
Next year, I’ll grow up.
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