A Merry Little Christmas

Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light.

Next year all our troubles will be out of sight.....

Next year all our troubles will be far away.

......

Someday soon we all will be together, if the saints allow.

Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow,

So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Christmas morning came later than usual for us, meaning we slept in. No one brought us breakfast in bed, that was pretty sad. There were only a couple of presents under the tree, which by the way is a rather strange tree.

This tree came out of a flat box in our storage closet, we just had to pick up the center and uncoil it up to its glorious height of about six feet or so. It's pre-lit, pre-decorated, and all we had to do was put the stand and the center poles in place and, voila! Instant Christmas tree! 

As I said, there were only a couple of gifts underneath -- books for me from Bruce and a Hickory Farms package from Phyllis (no picture of that, we already ate it! Thanks Phyllis!). 

I gave Bruce this for Christmas: a breakfast casserole, which he loved, even though I didn't serve it to him in bed. 

I will confess to feeling sad on Christmas Day, and it wasn't because of a shortage of gifts. We have all the material things that we want and need, and then some. Suffice it to say that it was difficult for me to return to Japan. Bruce struggled with it too, although I didn't know that until the Sunday we were in Iwakuni. Before we left home, he'd been thinking he wasn't sure he wanted to come back, largely because his rheumatoid arthritis had flared up and he was in a fair amount of pain. I knew he was hurting, but didn't realize it was as bad as it was. I wasn't sure I wanted to come back to Japan because I didn't want to leave our family again. Kendra's in a potentially serious relationship, Scott and Ashley have a baby coming, there are two graduations next spring and two more baptisms next year -- we already missed one. We were spoiled with such a wonderful Thanksgiving together and I didn't want to miss the family's major events or the day to day routine stuff, either. Saying goodbye to the grandchildren was brutal, they'll be so changed when we see them again. And saying goodbye to my mother was so hard, it was really awful. 

I suppose it's a good thing neither Bruce nor I told the other how we were feeling. We'd likely have been a little too supportive!  We just went along, sticking with the plan, and landed back here in Tokyo, two weeks and two days before Christmas. Bruce's RA symptoms had improved dramatically since his infusion, thankfully, but getting past jet lag was tougher, mustering up energy to do things was a challenge, and starting over building relationships and reaching out to less actives in the ward for a third time was something I just couldn't work up any enthusiasm for. I taught the Relief Society lesson the Sunday before Christmas, on "A Christ-Centered Life", which should have been a perfect topic for the season, but I felt kind of flat and that's how the lesson seemed to come across.

On Christmas Day, at the height of my sadness, Elder Gutierrez came down to our apartment (they live on the fifth floor of our building) to use the wifi and Skype with his family. I could hear the love in their voices, they were so happy to be talking together. And I don't know what it is about hearing the missionaries speak or sing in other languages that is so moving to me, but as I heard the Spanish accents and words, and then especially as Elder Gutierrez prayed in Japanese and his mother told him afterward how beautiful it was, I just cried. I had to go in our bedroom, lest the elders think I was a basket case (which I was, but they didn't need to think it). Then later Elder Dalton, after an unsuccessful and frustrating Skype attempt at another location, came over to use our wifi to connect with his family. It was brief, just to set up a time to call the next day, but just hearing his mother's voice was so touching to me. Such good kids, such good families -- and I was crying all over again. 

The Jackson family had invited us to their home for Christmas dinner. They are ward members who live off base -- Brother Jackson teaches Chinese for the DOD schools on base and Sister Jackson is Japanese. I didn't realize it was going to be as big a crowd as it was, and worried I didn't have enough deviled eggs to go around, but it worked out. Two of the elders came, another couple from the ward, and two other families who were the Jacksons' friends. One friend, bless her heart, brought her violin, Sister Jackson played the piano, and we sang Christmas carols -- in Japanese and English.

We ended with "Angels We Have Heard On High", and I figured I might be able to sing a little of the chorus on the Japanese verse, so I asked the elders how to say "Gloria" in Japanese. Their response (you guessed it) was half bark, half growl: "Grordia"! It wasn't a very musical sound and didn't lend itself too well to singing, but all of us gaijins attempted it. Laughing all the way. :-)

I'm a little ashamed of myself to even acknowledge the sadness and self-pity I've been feeling, in the face of many whose trials are so much greater, but it's real. Through all of it, I am getting happier. It's a work in progress, but it's coming. I realized I hadn't been singing, and that's just wrong!  We have some Christmas cds we'd been listening to, and have sung Christmas hymns at Church, but I didn't have anybody to sing the other part of "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas/Pine Cones and Holly Berries" or to harmonize with on "Winter Wonderland", no one to goof off with on "The Twelve Days After Christmas" ("Well, actually, I kept one of the drummers...."). As I realized this, and knew this was something that could help my pathetic Eeyore outlook, I remembered this song Tara introduced to me years ago:

My life flows on in endless song; Above earth's lamentation,

I hear the sweet, tho' far off hymn That hails a new creation;

Thro' all the tumult and the strife I hear the music ringing;

It finds an echo in my soul -- How can I keep from singing?

What tho' my joys and comforts die? The Lord my Saviour liveth;

What tho' the darkness gather round? Songs in the night he giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm While to that refuge clinging;

Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth, How can I keep from singing?

I lift my eyes; the cloud grows thin; I see the blue above it;

And day by day this pathway smooths, Since first I learned to love it,

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart, A fountain ever springing;

All things are mine since I am his -- How can I keep from singing?

My homesickness and sadness at being away from loved ones are of small significance as I consider these thoughts: "No storm can shake my inmost calm" and "All things are mine since I am his", and most profoundly "What though my joys and comforts die? The Lord my Saviour liveth." This was my answer. I will miss travelling to visit our children and grandchildren all the days of our mission, and my mother will probably not know who I am the next time I see her, but "The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart". I can't improve on these expressions of faith and hope and peace. Somehow, "Forget yourself and go to work" just didn't do it for me this time -- but these words do!

So does this:

I so dearly love and miss you all.