From the time I arose until around 7PM tonight, things had not gone as planned. Not in the least. I’m pretty flexible but I’ll admit that…
… after the electricity was turned off;
…the third day of gardeners blowing stuff around in front of my window turning the pug into demon doggie;
…the mail bringing nothing but more bad news and omitting expected good news;
… and a 3-hour round trip bumper-to-bumper drive to the Valley to pick up a check only to have the bank deny access to it until the 26th;
I was toast. No, I was worse than toast; I was angry and weepy and depressed and resentful.
I sent this message over to identi.ca/twitter about the time I felt myself drop into complete despair:
silence from me now. Because some days just shouldn’t be shared. They should be forgotten.
I meant it completely. Twitter was afire with holiday cheer; so was identi.ca. People sharing Christmas music, talking about their shopping, their wrapping, their giving, their joy, was just sending me deeper into the hole and I didn’t want to rain on their parades either.
I love giving. I love it. Nothing makes me happier than finding a need and filling it. It is what puts the joy in the season, in the whole year for me. To not be able to give was breaking my heart and my spirit. I don’t want to get all angsty on you here, but that’s how it felt to me. Like going to bed and waking up on the 26th might just be the answer.
I believe angels are messengers sent to convey a variety of messages,with the central one being that we aren’t alone, that we’re loved, watched over, cared for. There have been two times where I’ve seen and heard them with my own eyes and ears. The first was the night before Miss Dancer was born when my car died in the middle of strawberry fields on the back roads between Camarillo and Moorpark. A stranger stepped out of the fields and watched over me and the Eldest (who was 13 at the time) until I could get to a phone and be rescued. After we were, he disappeared back into the fields.
The second was the day she was run over by a van and virtual strangers came to my rescue, driving their car to the hospital and leaving it so I would have a way home.
The third was today. As I finally arrived back home after the long and frustrating drive for the check, disheartened, cold, and miserable, I saw a box at my front door.
I’m not expecting any packages. Trust me. I haven’t been able to do any shopping, much less shopping so far in advance that it could be shipped. Parked the car, walked around to the front, and found a shoebox-sized box addressed to me with a return address I didn’t recognize other than the eBay logo on the label.
I opened the box, and inside there were three classic Coke glasses. There was no note, or card, or anything other than the eBay seller’s business card inside.
That gift, that act of kindness, turned my entire day and attitude around. Someone out there cared enough, took enough time, wanted to do it enough to actually do it. I cannot tell you what a difference it made to know that even when things suck as much as they did today, there was someone who cared enough to send a gift to undo the suckages of previous days.
The message of angels nestled inside 3 empty Coke glasses: People care. People see. People want to reach out, help, cheer.
It makes me want to do more when I’m able to again (and I will be able to again…hopefully soon). It makes me want to bring the same message to people who really are in desperate need of comfort, joy, and even just a small gesture to make them feel like they belong.
After opening the box, Miss Dancer came down full of Christmas cheer, Santa hat and Christmas colors in full array. She left me a note, which said this:
“Whether you want to or not, IT’S TIME TO START BEING MERRY ABOUT CHRISTMAS!” with love, Cindy Lou Who.
I turned around to say something, and saw that she had spent her afternoon clearing out the clutter from our living room, and had dug through the boxes in the garage to get to the decorations she could reach. The stairs were festooned in garlands of poinsettias, tinsel and lights. She’d set up a small tree on the coffee table and tied red-ribbon bows everywhere she could.
Angels everywhere.
Caring. Reaching. Loving.
Merry Christmas to all. Thank you for reminding me of what is, and what isn’t important.
And to the mystery angel, a special thank you for your kind, caring, warm gift. It means more than you know.
