(from Unwrapping His Presence: What We Really Need for Christmas.)
I miss you. How many years now? I have trouble remembering. I have no trouble though, remembering you. Forever.
That cancer came and left and came again. You cared and lived and then, after an energetic testimony of acing pain as a true Christian, you left us for a better home.
Laughter. That was you. You did not depend on the assistance of humorous stories and silly jokes. Your giggles came as a gift. Your smile, your eyes, your joy. You knew how to laugh.
Love. That was you. You did not require the perfection of those around you. Your charity overcame so much pain. Your selflessness, your words, your listening ears. You knew how to love.
Life. That was you. You did not search for frail attempts at achieving life. Your style of existence revealed reality. Your tenderness, your honesty, your perspective. You knew how to live.
Now, gone from us, you still continue living, loving, laughing. For your Christmas present years ago, God healed you by taking you home. This season reminds me so much of you. You found so many ways of lifting us higher, of holding our hands, of hugging our necks, of taking us home. You were greater than any gift you wrapped.
That year? You battled each breath on this holiday.
This year? You celebrate every second in your holy home.
I miss you. One day I’ll come for a visit that never ends. That Christmas there, I look forward to remembering.
What a blessed mother to have such an appreciative, gifted son as her heritage. Despite your difficulties with memory, Chris, the memory of your mother remains crystal clear.
May you and Debbie, Taylor, Aaron, Graham, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren, have a blessed Christmas holiday with the knowledge that Jesus came to dwell among us, and dwells with us still.