The Razor's Edge

It's been an odd Christmas for us. Nothing has been business as usual. This time last year we were in our home, comfortable, well off, with a huge tree, lots of presents, lots of friends, all family present and accounted for. This Christmas finds us in another state, in another home, poorer by far, separated from loved ones. Even the Christmas tree is different this year, as we could not fit the nine foot tree I bought last year into this tiny apartment. I keep reminding myself that Christmas is not about the presents, it's not about the tree, not even about family, but about the God who holds our lives together, even when they seem to fall apart.

We woke up very early, as usual, this morning to open presents, and of course for me to snap some pictures. It didn't take long, and we grownups headed sleepily back for forty winks before starting Christmas dinner. 

I was dead asleep when the phone rang and I couldn't understand anything my sister was saying. Her voice was high with hysteria and tears and all I could hear was "accident" and Mom and Pop. I strained hard to make sense of her words, trying to calm her, while my own heart was pounding like thundering hooves in the Derby. The gist of the conversation, that I could gather between the sobs was that there had been a bad accident. That my pop had called, crying, and that my sis didn't think Mom was OK, and that she was very suddenly and unexpectedly on her way to them, about a two hour drive. I worked out where they had been going (to my sis's house) and where they were when the accident happened and knew the highway they must have been on. I convinced her to hang up with me and call 911. After she was gone I broke down. Heartache has come thick and fast this year, trouble piling upon trouble, with angst and a lot of anger and grief. And I know it hasn't just been me, almost every person I know has suffered loss and tragedy of some sort this year. 

So I waited for the phone call that would tell me she was all right, but in my heart I think I feared that because of the way things have gone this year, that things would not be ok. As I lay back in my bed I hear that familiar voice saying Rest in Me. And I do. I breathe again. I do not let myself think about what could be happening in far away Colorado. I call my friends, I rally the troops and we, the army of broken, wounded soldiers, pray as one with each other, each knowing that the others have felt the tinge of heartbreak, none of us have been spared. We comfort each other with the love we have been comforted with. I am rich with friends. I am convinced that there is nobody on Earth who has better friends than I do. 

Finally almost two hours later I get the call. She's ok. Bruised, shaken, but alive. With that news is the news that the people in the other car are not faring so well. 

Hours later, sitting in the middle of my bed, head resting on my updrawn knees, I am lost in prayer. I pray for my mom, I pray for my pop, I pray for the other people, with a depth of feeling I haven't felt in a long time. And I have an epiphany. I am rich. My mother is still with me. Though we may not have had the best of relationships in past years, she has become my staunchest supporter, never failing to give a word of encouragement about my latest venture, whatever that might be and I am grateful for her friendship. My Pop, surviving not just one, but two horrific traffic accidents in less than ten years is still with me. Pop who endears himself to me because he cries at movies and because he loves my mother, my precious Pop, whom I have never told enough how much I love, is going to be ok. To have the two of them alive and  well is the greatest Christmas present I could ever receive. I am overwhelmed with riches that have nothing to do with Christmas trees or presents or stocking stuffers. 

It seems to me, as I lay here in bed, now past midnight with the events of the past year and the events of today rolling around in my head, that we all live on the razor's edge. It has never been clearer to me that we balance the tightrope between employment and joblessness. Housed and homeless. Friended and friendless. Sanity and madness. Marriage and divorce. Health and illness. Life and death. On this Christmas night I am grateful, more than anything, for the One who's hands are big enough to span either side of that tightrope, to catch us no matter which way we may fall, either on the side of fullness or loss. 

And although it would seem that I have fallen, this year, on the side of loss it becomes clear to me that I have also gained. I am aware, more than ever, of how blessed I really am. 

My daughter, driving in foul weather today, makes it home ok. Her little dog, whom I love very much, and was run over by a car last week, is miraculously recovering. My husband has a job interview tomorrow. My dad's birthday is today. He is 68. My son will be graduating this year. My parents, though hurting, have survived this day. All excellent things. I have never taken these things for granted, but now I am hyperaware of how blessed I am. How rich I am.