The Many Thoughts of Wanda Kidd

Christmas season was always a marathon for us.  Our families were too far away from each other to be convenient, but too close to prohibit us from traveling to both during the Christmas Eve/Christmas Day Prime Time. Our poor children thought the car was the sacred space of the season.

For twenty-five years, my friend, Elaine White and I chaired the Jackson County, NC Christmas Store, which involved grueling days and nights of planning and execution for the month of December. So as we started out on our ‘Prime Time’ journey each year, I was already exhausted and probably not the cheeriest person to my family or others.  I once fell asleep on Christmas Eve and snored so loudly in the movie theater during the “Little Mermaid”, that my children threatened to never be seen in public with me again.

The first year that I served on staff at the First Methodist Church, Christmas was on Sunday and I was the lowest person on the ministry totem pole, which meant I got to preach that Christmas morning.  Now theologically, I understand that having the opportunity to be the one to bring the Christmas message on the day of Jesus’ birth celebration is an honor and a privilege, but in the logistical and cultural reality, it was a lot to ask. I mean, really, I was the only person on staff who was married, much less had small children.

This is how the two days had gone: We went from Cullowhee to Greenville, SC (a two hour drive) to celebrate Christmas with Dan’s family.  Finished up shopping there, because Cullowhee was not and is not the shopping Mecca of world.  Went to have a meal with college friends of Dan who lived an hour away from Greenville.  Three hours later, back in Greenville, we had dinner and presents with Dan’s mother et al. Loaded up the children and gifts to head up the mountain in time for the annual reading of the Christmas story and checkers game, our only personal traditions.  Put the children to bed, then I was off to the midnight Christmas Eve service. Got home from that in time to help Santa put together the Christmas gifts and fall into bed, to be awakened at 5:30 by our anxious children to see the haul under the tree.  By 8 am, we had opened all the gifts, bagged up the wrapping paper and had waffles, but we were only halfway through.

I dressed and traveled the 20 minutes to Sylva to lead the service, believing that my family was right behind me and from there we would head to Hillsborough to do it all over again. We all understood that my family was disappointed that they were having to wait to begin their Christmas festivities until we could provide the children, since our children were the only grands.

I have no idea what my sermon was about that day, but I do remember that my family never showed. That was very unusual. Dan and the kids never missed being present when I preached.

I shook all of the hands and closed up the building and went out to see if they were in the parking lot.  They were not.  I traveled the 10 miles back to the house and when I got there, everything was packed up and they and the car were gone. I slowly retraced my drive back to town, still no family. I stopped at PJ’s BP station and made the clerk go through all the receipts of people who bought gas on credit cards to see if Dan and the kids had been there, (one of the good things about being married to an accountant, is that they are usually organized and predictable.)  There was no receipt, but I left word and crumbs to tell them I was looking for them. I started toward Hillsborough, very confused, a bit frustrated and, yes, a little worried.

This was long before cellphones, so I stopped at every rest area and called back to our house and to Mama’s to see if they had shown up or called in. I vacillated between tears and anger, because even when I am worried, it often manifests itself as anger.

Around Hickory, which is two hours into the trip, the call to Mama solved the mystery. Dan was still on the finance board at Cullowhee Baptist and they could not find anyone to count the money for their service. He thought he had told me that he and the kids were going to church there, (I had not heard that). Their service had not started until 11, so he was running much later than me. I did not care that he had an excuse.

The rest of the way to Hillsborough was NOT filled with festive feelings, knowing I was going to have to sit around with the group of people who were not particularly interested in whether I was there or not. They were anxiously awaiting the arrival of their excuse for decadent and extravagant holiday spending and they were with their dad.

So by the time Dan and the kids pulled into the driveway on Jefferson Drive, I was not a happy person as I shot out the door to “rip Dan a good one”, as some of us say in the South.

As I stood in the driveway, Dan emerged from the car and said in a voice that was unusually calm, firm and not happy.  He said, “Stop right there. I do not know what you are going to say nor how mad you are, but nothing compares to traveling 5 hours on Christmas morning with two children crying and asking where is their mother and why did she leave them.” He was right. He won. My children emerged from the car with confusion on their little faces asking what had happened? There was no use explaining, even though on most days I would rather be right than rich, It was Christmas and they were there and all was right with the world on that Christmas Sunday.

May your Christmas Journey be filled with Love and Peace and if it’s not (which for many it will not), it is my earnest prayer you will find Hope in the promise of Good News through Jesus’ birth celebration.  Amen.