What Christmas is All About

At lunch today, after finishing my half-day shift, I looked from my seat at the table down the length of the sorting room and said, "In just three months, this place has become like home."  As my colleague agreed with the sentiment expressed, I thought, 'Isn't this what Christmas is all about?'.

All the religious fundamentals aside, Christmas is at heart a time for family.  I'm not sure whether that limitation is actually possible: after all, what's the Jesus, Mary and Joseph thing, if not a family ... but let that pass.  Some years ago, my daughter said to me, referring to her step-father, "I can't call you 'dad'; he's been much more of a dad to me than you ever were!"  Yes, that hurt.  And I could have argued the point, citing certain things many years ago to plead my cause but I had to admit that, from where she was looking at the time, truth was on her side.

Family isn't just flesh and blood; it's a matter of love and behaviour.  And when it comes to Christmas, those things are even more important.  Unusually for this blog, I offer you two pictures.  This envelope landed on my doormat yesterday morning.  It had come all the way from Canada, sent by a woman I've never met, and with whom my only contact, apart from a burst of e-mails in the last couple of months, has been a single similar exchange about five years ago.  It's her theory that we are something like ninth or tenth cousins, going back to a potential common ancestor in Tudor times.  Whether we will be able to prove this link is somewhat doubtful, to say the least, but on the strength of this, she was willing to prepare and send to me a whole package of papers relating to the family and descendants of this putative n-times-great grandparent.  If nothing at all develops from it, it will provide some interesting holiday reading!

My second picture is also recent, but the story behind it started just before last Christmas.  After some thought and discussion, the CO of our local Salvation Army corps decided to go ahead with a plan to open a weekly drop-in for people in our town who are either homeless or vulnerable in some other way.  There they can get a cooked breakfast and bread, pastries or other foodstuffs, clothing and toiletries, when available and according to their needs.  Along with a dozen or so others from different churches in the town and beyond, it is my privilege to be one of the helpers at this operation, called the Ark (standing for Always Room for Kindness).

One day during the spring, I was talking to one of the other volunteers about the amount of spare time on my hands now my retired life had settled into a regular pattern.  She explained how, in addition to the Ark, she had also volunteered to help at our local hospice, where she had joined a scheme called Compassionate Neighbours.  These people are paired up with 'clients' (an awfully professional-sounding word, but it serves the purpose) who have a relative suffering from a terminal condition, or who have recently been bereaved.  They operate on a one-to-one basis to offer a small amount of time on a regular basis to someone who may be feeling isolated or lonely, perhaps for something as simple as a cup of tea and a chat. 

The picture is of Becky and some other Neighbours at their Christmas party last week.  The hospice is a charity funded to a large extent by a small of retail shops in local towns.  These shops are supported in their operation by a central warehouse and distribution centre, and my friend suggested that it might be appropriate if I were to offer my time to help there.  After a few other problems had been resolved during the summer months, I followed up her suggestion, and have been working there a day and a half a week since the beginning of October.  The atmosphere is very relaxed and congenial.  They are, indeed, like a second family.

People ask from time to time what I shall 'be doing for Christmas'.  What they mean is, 'will you be alone on this overtly family occasion?'  In the absence of a family, my answer is usually 'Nothing.' meaning, 'Yes, I shall be alone, but I'm used to it now, and I don't mind.'  From time to time one family or another have invited me to their table ... invitations I've gladly accepted in preference to cooking my own dinner but, despite the warmth and sincerity of their welcome, they're not my family.  This year, as a result of helping at the Ark, I have accepted the invitation to join other people who would otherwise be alone for Christmas lunch at the Salvation Army.

Whatever table will be welcoming you next Tuesday, I wish all my readers a very Happy Christmas!