What is your most cherished memory of Christmas?
Recently, I was conversing about the Season with a friend of mine. We come from different backgrounds, different geographic parts of the world, from different belief systems and I am always curious about how my friends celebrate this Season. During our correspondence, it quickly became clear to me, my friend and I have the same priorities during the Holidays. Spending time with friends and family and cherishing the memories we make are important as we celebrate the Season. After our conversation, my observation made me ask, what is my favorite memory of Christmas?
Almost twenty years ago now, as I detail in my book Providence, I was going through a heavy cycle of chemotherapy. The original plan was for my treatments to be finished by Christmas and my wife and I would celebrate not only the birth of our Savior but also the end of an arduous battle with cancer and the subsequent treatments. Instead, something much better occurred.
My wife, Laura, is the seventh child of seven. Her family is large, to say the least, and Christmas was a special time of celebration, tradition, and making great memories. With my chemotherapy cycle ending, Laura planned to create a lavish meal for my son, herself, and I with special portions set aside to meet my unique dietary needs at the time. All to celebrate the end of chemo.
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She put the tree up, decorated the apartment, planned an all-day meal, and prepared for as massive a celebration as the three of us could manage. We had fought through an awful time of fear, doubt, silence, pain, and sickness. We deserved it. Didn’t we?
On Christmas Eve, the meal was to begin that night, I went to my oncologist’s office. It was supposed to be a routine check-up, a blood draw, and then I was supposed to go home. Instead, my bloodwork showed that my immune system needed a boost and the staff gave me a shot to help my immune system recover. The shot did help my immune system. It also caused an allergic reaction that nearly put me in the hospital.
After the shot, halfway home, my body temperature dropped precipitously. I shrugged on a winter coat and turned the car’s heater on full, racing home. The nearer to home I came the more severe the reaction. By the time I arrived home and staggered my way into my bed, my body was shaking and I felt like I would never be warm again.
Laura had been out shopping with our son and when she came home she found me bundled up under thick quilts with a space heater blasting across my covered body. Our cat was curled up happily on top of me as I shivered beneath. Laura’s reaction upon finding me this way was devastating as she realized her planned celebration was over.
At some point, I fell asleep. While I slept, Laura called the medical team and she watched me making sure I did not grow worse. During chemotherapy, I never dreamed. Or if I did, I do not recall any except one: the one from that Christmas Eve.
In our apartment, our bedroom was separated from the living room by a single wall. In my dream, I lay in bed and I felt healthy. I felt well.
And as I lay there wondering at how good it felt to feel well again, the wall of our bedroom seemed to illuminate in a golden light. The source was not in the room but outside the room. The image was fast like lightning and curiosity woke me from sleep.
I sat up, knocking the cat off my chest. I felt incredible, just as I had in the dream. Not only did I feel well, but I felt hungry. My curiosity about the dream and a hunger for the dinner my wife was going to cook drove me out of bed. My legs felt shaky, not from the allergic reaction, but from hunger. I stood a moment catching my balance. Glancing at the clock, I realized I had slept for over six straight hours.
Shuffling out of our bedroom, I glanced into the living room and saw Laura laying on the couch. She sat up in alarm. “Are you ok?”
“Yes, I’m hungry,” I said.
My favorite memory of this Christmas is not of my quick recovery from the allergic reaction. It is not the end of chemo. The memory was not even known to me that day. A few years later, in a completely different state of the US, Laura and I were entertaining our new pastor and his wife, when Laura shared her side of this story.
She had built up that Christmas to be extra special in celebrating the end of chemotherapy for us. And when she came home to find me trembling uncontrollably in bed, it had destroyed her anticipation and joy of that day. Hours later, while I lay asleep, she gave up and told God she could not do it anymore. She had fought alongside me all those months, through the chemo, through the surgeries, through the tests, through all the angst, and she could not do it anymore. Not alone. Only He could, and so my wife gave herself over and put her trust fully in Christ that day.
My favorite memory of Christmas is the day my wife came to fully trust Him.
If you do not trust Jesus, not at all or even not fully yet, today would be a great day to do so and give those who love you a wonderful memory. Jesus died for us, for our sins, and rose again on the third day proving He has the power to forgive. We just have to accept Him. Please do.
Romans 8:28 (ESV) And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.
Jeff Parker is the author of the Vide Press title, Providence. He is a follower of Christ, a husband, a father, and a sometimes public speaker. A native of Indiana, he lives on a small farm with his family, where they find joy and have fun pursuing faith and creativity.
