On the coldest night of the year, the first guest arrived for the party. She was about two feet tall, stuffed in her puffy coat, with a round red face spread into a happy smile. Her mom and aunt followed behind.
The tables of the fellowship hall were dressed in red and green, sprinkled with packets of gummy bears. Cupcakes with red and green icing, proudly festooned with child-sized Grinch-related rings, Cindy Lou Who here, the Grinch there, stood on the serving table alongside rows of Welch’s juices in their plastic bottles. A tall tree, festooned with twinkling tin-foil Chrismons, presents heaped at its feet, faced a cross on the wall across the room.
But the little guest didn’t notice those things. Her eyes sought out the smiling faces, most of them wrinkled, and after beaming back at them, toddled bravely off to explore this marvelous place.
Other guests arrived, none so small, with their moms and siblings. She checked for smiles, and gave hers back, but went on checking out the important things, like, how does this chair taste? (“Mary Elizabeth, don’t lick the chair!”).
Around her, her movements were tracked with ongoing adult commentary.
“Oh, she’s heading for those presents!”
But she wasn’t. She veered away to another chair. It stood taller than her. Could she move it? She could! Listen to that screech! She grinned with joy and called her momma. Could anything be better than that screech? She did it again. And again. It made her cackle with glee.
The chair found its way to a table against the wall. It was darker under the table, a lovely little fort. She ducked under and hid behind the chair. What a wonderful, perfect place! She alerted mom, so she would see how great it was.
But then, it was time to dance. She pushed the chair out from the table (screech!). She danced around it, and around it again. She checked around her — yep, everyone was watching! She called her mom to join her. Mom volunteered auntie, who she led dancing around the chair, again and again, laughing.
“Don’t get dizzy!”
A plump red-haired lady read a story about a child from God. But Mary Elizabeth needed hugs and velcroed herself to mom, who cuddled her and kissed her head while another church lady read a poem about a “jolly old elf,” whatever that was.
Auntie fetched a high chair and imprisoned her for cupcakes and baked potato chips. What flavors! The very best food she’d ever had!
She watched as the elderly folks ferried presents to each family’s table. She saw the smiles, and some unease as well. Was there something to worry about? She scanned the room — colorful boxes stacked on the tables, moms and siblings, many beaming back at her — no, nothing to worry about here.
People were leaving. Momma captured her and swaddled her in her puffy coat. But she wrestled herself away and ran back to the very center of the room, between the cross and the tree, and stood there, taking it all in.
She didn’t know what a present was, or why a tree was indoors, or what that piece of wood on the wall was, or that halfway around the world, people were being murdered just for being Jewish, or that her daddy was in prison.
Or that those old people were the holy ones of God, showing her the Light that was coming into the world.
Everywhere she looked was love.
She stood there, rejoicing.
(The Rev. Michael Cook is an interim minister for the Christian Church [Disciples of Christ], currently serving Hillsville Christian Church in Hillsville in southwest Virginia. He lives in Cobbs Creek with his wife and two cats.)
