The Christmas Letters Read online

  “You see,” Grandpa said, “without this piece of Christmas, there can be no peace of Christmas.”

  ALTHOUGH THE STATEMENT SEEMED simple enough on the surface, I heard—and felt—in those words something profound. All of a sudden, things like lakeside summer homes, country club memberships, and burgeoning careers appeared insignificant. Perhaps most importantly, it was immediately clear that in the incredibly hectic and stressful pace of the holiday season—with its overcrowded malls, maxed-out credit cards, and endless parties—we had completely lost our focus.

  TWO WEEKS EARLIER, my wife and I had stood out in the cold and bickered for nearly thirty minutes over whether to buy a Scotch pine or a balsam fir as our Christmas tree. After what had just been said, arguing over a tree seemed not only petty but downright pathetic. It was as if Grandpa had single-handedly put the entire season in its proper perspective, a perspective all too often underappreciated or overlooked altogether.

  GRANDPA ASKED MY MOM FOR A PAIR OF SCISSORS.

  When he had them in his hand, he took the letter J and carefully cut it up into ten equal parts. He kept one piece for himself before handing out the remaining nine, one to each person at the table.

  “The other letters will remind you of what you meant to my Christmas, but I hope that this letter will always remind you of what Jesus can mean to your Christmas,” Grandpa concluded.

  We sat in a rare moment of quiet and reflection, the smell of simmering spices wafting our way and the sound of “Silent Night” playing softly on the kitchen radio….

  THE OTHER EVENING, AFTER I HAD PULLED out the red velvet letter T that Grandpa gave me nearly a year ago, I thought about that train like never before: how much it had meant to him and how much more it now means to me. As I was connecting the last two pieces of track and feeling the pain of Grandpa's absence, I reached for the wallet in the back pocket of my pants and pulled out my piece of the letter J.

  TO SOMEONE ELSE, IT WOULD LOOK LIKE any other one-inch scrap of hand-cut red velvet; to me, it will always symbolize something infinitely greater. I squeezed it in my hand and pondered its meaning, all the while recalling Grandpa's words: “Without this piece of Christmas, there can be no peace of Christmas.”

  I LOOKED UP TOWARD THE CEILING, but my thoughts reached all the way to heaven. I was no longer sad, but glad.

  “Thank you, Grandpa,” was all that I could say.

  May the peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

  —Traditional Apostolic Blessing, based on Philippians 4:7

 

 

  Bret Nicholaus, The Christmas Letters

 

 

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