For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given… – Isaiah 9:6
I don’t remember what it was that I was wishing for that Christmas. I was ten and was very much into riding my bicycle and nurturing my four pet chickens. In fact, I had combined those two interests by teaching Peter, one of my smaller chickens, to cling to my bicycle handlebars as I rode through the neighborhood in the small mining town where I grew up. I loved climbing the giant mimosa tree in the backyard, was good at jumping rope and had won the Polk County hula hoop championship that summer. I’m certain that my request to Santa that year was for some outside-oriented toy or device. But what he delivered was something quite different – a lined and zippered cover for my violin case.
When my sister Ann and I hurried down the stairs in the dark that Christmas morning to look under the branches of the beautiful white pine that my daddy and I had cut down far out in the Tennessee woods, we both were anticipating the fulfilment of our wishes. I remember the redolent aroma of the fresh tree, simply decorated with one string of multi-colored lights and handmade garlands we had carefully strung of popcorn and cranberries. The tree had a wonderful, magical quality about it – an aura of mystery and promise.
Ann’s eyes lit up when she saw the shiny necklace and lovely dress carefully laid out for her. My eyes searched for something bright, something promising outdoor fun. When I spotted the violin case cover, I can still remember the initial sense of disappointment and almost confusion.
The year before, I had begged my mother to let me take violin lessons. This was a desire I had held for several years after discovering a violin in the house where my beloved grandfather had lived in north Georgia. Although he died when I was just six, we had spent enough time and love together that he had become my hero. I wanted to be just like him. He was a lawyer, a bigger than life personality in his community, but a humble man with a kind and loving heart. When we walked together from his house to his office on Main Street, he greeted every person we met with great kindness and respect. I learned to look at people through his eyes, and as an adult I came to realize that he viewed everyone, no matter their background, race or status in life, as a child of God. I have always wanted to be like him, then and now. He ate mustard on his hot dog. I hated mustard but I wanted mustard on mine and grew into loving that taste. He had played violin. I wanted to play violin.
At the time of this Christmas, for the previous year my mother had made violin lessons a reality for me at great effort and expense, for we had to travel sixty miles every other week over winding mountain roads to Chattanooga for those lessons. I loved the lessons and the world of classical music that was opening up for me. I worked hard and practiced every morning before school.
So, when my eyes lit on the violin case cover, I saw the love and encouragement inherent in the wonderful, unexpected gift. I remembered my history with my grandfather. I let go my childish disappointment of not receiving what I had expected from Santa. The legacy of that gift has remained with me through all the years of my life and has continued to fill me with gratitude for the love of family, the opportunities that were given to me through that love, but most of all for the gift from my grandfather of learning to see all people as children of God.
God of love and promise, in our humility and awe we thank you for the best gift ever given to mankind, your son Jesus. Help all people grow in their acceptance of your gift and in love for each other. Amen.
Betty Schroeder