Christmas Devotion

In our society there appears to be cracks in the foundation of teamwork. Value tends to be placed on capital instead of compassion. We are linked through technology, yet disconnected as a nation. People are expendable with no loyalty to one another. Lost is a time when a handshake meant your word and the term, I have your back, held merit.  We amass things, only to dispose of them when we grow uninterested or feel challenged by them. Yet, there is HOPE… every so often a shift occurs- one in which our world is interrupted by the human soul’s desire to exalt change... while embracing fellowship.

Last week, when my life was altered in a foreseen direction, I let my heart openly weep for something that was lost. What I could not anticipate was the miraculous waves it created in the universe, by granting me consent… to see the forest through the trees. 

By the end of the following week, my life has been impacted by the gentle beauty of a magnolia, the threads of a quilt, and the overflowing gesture of kindness extended to me. My heart was overwhelmed, when the soft caress of simple things, draped my earth with its compassion.  

I have been mulling over for awhile now, the notion of stepping back into the past, in order to restore my Christmas spirit. To embark on this clandestine mission would require time, research and my effort. These things- I now have- in order to devote myself to the precious treasures locked away in December 2011. 

Tucked securely in my mind are pieces of a day cloaked in melancholia. In one week, the tragic marking of a day riveted to this mother’s fragmented heart, will summon all that was lost to me on a fatal road. It will be three years since death walked into my life and took with it someone whose single existence made such an admirable difference.

 Ask any bereaved parent and they will know how a ticking clock resonates with them, when their child passed. I use to count every 12^th of the month, until one day I traded it with a resurgence of cherished moments. Prying open the vault of twenty-one years shared with my daughter, called upon courage in me that had whispers of doubt, but masses of faith. 

In lifting my gaze upward, this allowed me to open my eyes to all of the brilliant signs that have been sent to me. Mother Nature is my best friend; for in a formation of clouds, the murmur of a breeze or the unearthing of a one of a kind pebble, I see, feel and hear Shayla. 

 

Photo Courtesy of The Weather Network Gallery

On a crisp night, as I assemble under the veil of the universe’s shadows, I imagine her eyes are the stars gazing back at me. In a knot of a white pine tree- limbs twisted upward in glorious victory- I envision her name carved amongst the ingrained cracks; personifying strength and protection.  

Acceptance of all things since Shayla’s passing has enriched my life, knowing she is forever a part of my heart.  In letting go of things I have loved, it has allowed for the divine to surface, enveloping the grief… while letting me see the snapshots of our lives shared together. 

In December 2011, my daughter and I were to spend our 12 days of Christmas together, in Victoria.  An itinerary was created, with a few holiday surprises for Shayla. Yet death had its own agenda. On December 12^th, the essence of Christmas was swallowed whole, by the words of a police officer standing in front of me. 

While that moment encapsulates my misery at losing my only child, I have risen above to reclaim back the 12 Days of Christmas that I would have shared with Shayla. I drew upon the plans we had made and since I now reside within Victoria, the tasks at hand have already come together with much ease. 

The significance of the days I will take part in holds several meanings; the first being connected to my faith and the real importance of the season. The second will see me trade in the tragedy of December 12 for what Shayla would want for me to do, fix my eyes upon the loving bond that could not be severed. The third is the magnitude bearing the connotation of giving with less focus on receiving. In sharing this, I have encountered a flow of continual blessings that were unexpected. Although I have my own set schedule as to what I will be doing and how my twelve days will be carried out, my Saviour has already written my story…long ago. 

Within my community, this past week has seen a stranger pay for my groceries, neighbours and dear friends of mine, David and Audrey, gave $200.00 to my mechanic to cover my bill, the General Manager of Magnolia Hotel & Spa, Bill Lewis, has gifted me a night to remember and someone dear to me, paid for an afternoon of spa services at Magnolia. I have had money taken off my bill at a tire business, coupons given to me while paying for my items and a zipper on a quilt of Shayla’s re-stitched, at no charge. 

Last Sunday, after attending Canvas Church, two ladies who attend services with me blessed me with their kindness. I had lunch bought for me by a wonderful woman named Elaine, who also gave me a lovely Poinsettia. A book of Christmas prayers was presented to me by Lilian, along with a candle and I have been told repeatedly by others how they are praying for me.

All of this happened on the heels of me not working and awaiting my upcoming surgery. I would like to convey to everyone mentioned above that I believe in ‘angels’ who have brought such loving grace to me.  My 12 days of Christmas will elaborate more on Magnolia Hotel & Spa in a later post, as there is a marvellous connection to Shayla- once bittersweet- it now will hold endearing memories. 

Before this even began to unfold, there were miracles swirling around me, radiating the light of the season and instilling in me how my precious child has shown me that sacrifice… does not mean the same as suffering.

Photo Courtesy of Pinterest

 By T.L. Alton