Our motto for this family get together has been, "It's a Christmas miracle!" The pants I bought you actually fit? It's a Christmas miracle! You guys made it here safely through the snow? It's a Christmas miracle! You found some extra dipping sauce in the back of the fridge? It's a Christmas miracle!
It's been a bit overkill. Don't get me wrong, I love acknowledging everyday miracles but "Christmas Miracle" is kind of a term already on reserve.
A few days before Christmas 2006, we received a phone call from my grandma. Our family friend Arnie, 81, had a seizure during dinner. He vomited, aspirated, and earned himself a flight for life ride to the intensive care unit.
While the rest of the world was preparing for a joyful holiday, we were preparing for the worst. Decisions were to be made on December 26. The decision was that life support would be terminated the following day after everyone had the opportunity to say goodbye to a warm hand.
The following morning, my dad received a wake-up call asking him to make the drive to be with them. While he was showering my grandma called back. She had to hand the phone to my grandfather because she was crying too hard to talk to my mom. They were tears of joy. Arnie was awake, sitting up, and by that afternoon he was asking for a drink.
Arnie lived for eight more months before he passed away peacefully. There was no reason he should have survived that December. His funeral was planned! Even my agnostic grandparents admitted it was a Christmas Miracle.
Sometimes God works in life-saving miracles and sometimes He works through everyday miracles. The question becomes, will we acknowledge them?
I pray you all had a miraculous Christmas, my friends.
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label Christmas Miracle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas Miracle. Show all posts
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
A Beer with the Boys
The weekend before Thanksgiving has always been reserved for deer hunting. My dad would go up to my grandparents' house, kickback, relax, and hunt. Long before any sane person would even consider leaving the depths of their plush, warm bed, Dad and Boppy would be donning their layers and blaze orange to head into the woods.
They always hoped for a nice layer of fresh snow as they hunted the same land year after year. The tree line and a corn field belonged to our goodfriends Herb and Arnie, two brothers in their 80s who lived independently in neighboring homes.
Sometime after the sun came up, our two men would trudge into Herb's kitchen where the fridge was full of Miller. Not because Herb drank beer but because Dad and Boppy drank beer. Arnie would come over and the four would sit around solving the world's problems.
As everyone grew older, hunting became harder and harder. The time in the woods was shorter and the time in Herb's kitchen longer. "Deer hunting" became a pretense for a good time with old friends. It has been years since we've had any venison.
The day I started college I got a phone call saying Arnie passed away. This was eight months after the contemplation of terminating life support, the planning of the funeral, and the Christmas Miracle. That year Dad and Boppy BYOB-ed it to Herb's room at the nursing home.
Herb passed away on New Year's Eve that same year. The only time I've ever been to the gravesite was when we almost froze to death in the sub-zero temperatures and wild winds ripping off the surrounding barren fields.
Even though the will brouhaha had not yet been settled, Dad and Boppy hunted Herb and Arnie's land that year. But it was too hard. Instead, they took a drive to the cemetery in the middle of nowhere. The one that only has two remaining plots, graciously given to my grandparents to use sometime in the distant future.
With the headstones protecting them from the wind, two grown men wearing blaze orange sat on a nice layer of snow to have a beer with the boys.
They always hoped for a nice layer of fresh snow as they hunted the same land year after year. The tree line and a corn field belonged to our goodfriends Herb and Arnie, two brothers in their 80s who lived independently in neighboring homes.
Sometime after the sun came up, our two men would trudge into Herb's kitchen where the fridge was full of Miller. Not because Herb drank beer but because Dad and Boppy drank beer. Arnie would come over and the four would sit around solving the world's problems.
As everyone grew older, hunting became harder and harder. The time in the woods was shorter and the time in Herb's kitchen longer. "Deer hunting" became a pretense for a good time with old friends. It has been years since we've had any venison.
The day I started college I got a phone call saying Arnie passed away. This was eight months after the contemplation of terminating life support, the planning of the funeral, and the Christmas Miracle. That year Dad and Boppy BYOB-ed it to Herb's room at the nursing home.
Herb passed away on New Year's Eve that same year. The only time I've ever been to the gravesite was when we almost froze to death in the sub-zero temperatures and wild winds ripping off the surrounding barren fields.
Even though the will brouhaha had not yet been settled, Dad and Boppy hunted Herb and Arnie's land that year. But it was too hard. Instead, they took a drive to the cemetery in the middle of nowhere. The one that only has two remaining plots, graciously given to my grandparents to use sometime in the distant future.
With the headstones protecting them from the wind, two grown men wearing blaze orange sat on a nice layer of snow to have a beer with the boys.
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