Photography by Lori K. Tate
A couple of weeks ago, our family was asked to light one of the advent candles at church. (Don’t freak out because our church does not meet in person right now, and there were only a handful of us in a giant sanctuary — masked and socially distanced.) Anyway, I immediately replied “yes” that our family would be honored to do this, even though I knew we would put some sort of Griswold spin on it — accidentally.
Well, last Sunday was the big day, and sure enough we were five minutes late for our call, and John missed his cue to read the prayer of forgiveness, for which we all forgave him. Both glitches were hardly noticeable, and somehow our family escaped mispronouncing a word while reading in front of the folks sitting in the sanctuary, watching on YouTube and listening on WDAV — no pressure.
When we were asked to do this, our minister didn’t send us the whole game plan for the service. He simply sent us our parts. So later in the service when I saw that we were singing Hymn 852, When the Lord Redeems the Very Least, my heart began swelling. I wasn’t familiar with the hymn, but I was so familiar with its tune, I’ll Fly Away.
I’ve always loved this song because it reminds me of the church I grew up in, and it’s also similar to Will the Circle Be Unbroken, one the songs that we selected for mom’s memorial service. I chose this song because mom wrote about it in a book I gave her to fill out, Mom, Share Your Life With Me. I think I gave her this book after I graduated from college. Regardless, she answered all 365 questions it contained, and I cherish every single page. (If you haven’t given one of these to your parents, do it now. Really! How else are you going to find out about a special valentine your mom received in elementary school?)
Photography by Lori K. Tate
Back to church. While the organist played the familiar notes to I’ll Fly Away, tears fell from my eyes as I stared at the Christmon Tree thinking about mom. She loved Christmas, and she adored Christmon ornaments. She made some for our church’s tree, and she cross-stitched a ton of them for her own Christmon tree.
Listening to this music and looking at a part of Christmas that my mother held so dear made me feel close to her, warm even. I could have listened to that hymn forever. It was the wink that I needed to continue powering through a holiday season like no other.
People say that the second year of losing someone is harder than the first, and I think that that’s true. Every day, I see things that remind me of mom, and the thought of her not coming back tugs at my heart constantly. But last Sunday for a few moments, I felt peace, and that’s really all I need for Christmas.
So thanks, mom, you always give the best presents and this year was no different.