Mom is sick in bed. I am all alone. It's Christmas. Doesn't that mean I should be unhappy?
As with most things, of course, that is only the surface of the story that is today. Let me share with you the truth.
This morning, I woke up at 0600 and said my morning prayers. I did my morning routine and Mom met me at the door of her bedroom, coughing and aching and feeling horrible. I got her Robitussin (non - alcoholic, of course) and tucked her back into bed. I fed the cats and the dog and got dressed and went to Mass alone.
It was no ordinary morning, however, for today is the Feast Day of the Nativity of Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
I was scheduled to be the lector at the Mass at 0730.
I had practiced and practiced because what I was going to get to read was so delightful:
Isaiah 52:7-10
How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings glad tidings, announcing peace, bearing good news, announcing salvation, and saying to Zion, "Your God is King!"
HARK! Your sentinels raise a cry, together they shout for joy, for they see directly, before their eyes, the Lord restoring Zion.
Break out together in song, O ruins of Jerusalem!
For the Lord comforts his people, he redeems Jerusalem.
The Lord has bared his holy arm in the sight of all the nations;
all the ends of the earth will behold the salvation of our God.
I got to spend my morning with Jesus, to take the Eucharist, to visit with His Blessed Mother and His wonderful protector and Foster Father, St Joseph.
I got to say, "Merry Christmas!" to holy men who have given their lives to serve me and His Church, and do so without regret and without going back on their word.
I get, today, to be of service to the woman who gave birth to me. I get to clean her bathroom, do her laundry, get her her medicine and something light to eat, make sure she has water and Kleenex and the paper to read and that her remote control is working so she can just take today to get well.
I get to go deliver presents to some people I love.
Tonight, I get to go open the doors and make coffee and be of service to some other people who gave me back my health, my sanity, my family, my faith and my life.
Tomorrow, I will be 58 years old. I have a good job, I am no longer obese, I am healthy, I have a nice place to live and my car is running just fine. My team is in the play offs. I have a gym membership.
No, my life is nothing like I wanted it to be or like I hoped it would be and yes, there are times I think "if only" when I look at what you all seem to have going on or when someone I hardly know is deliberately mean to me.
Yet, if I was to be totally honest with myself I would have to admit, I have it pretty darn good.
In fact, I would venture to say I have a fabulous life.
Thank you, God, for not giving me what I deserve.
Merry Christmas everyone!
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