December 25 – “The Poster”

Boy, was today ever different.  I don't think Chris and I have had a day like this in thirty years.  It was Christmas morning.  But there was something strange right from the start.  That was just it.  It didn't start - until after 8 a.m.  See, it was just the two of us.  Mom was in Houston at Jay's.  Kel and Christina and their boys were in California.  Josh and Christi and Zak were in Mansfield.  Nathan was at work, and April was house-sitting.  Quiet had set in.  Very strange experience.  Not sure I particularly like it.  Oh, I loved the part about being alone with Chris.  I just like to be surrounded with activity as well.    We exchanged gifts while sitting on the floor near Nathan and April's tree.  Our gifts were pretty simple.  I got a movie and a book on apologetics I had been wanting to replace.  The other one got wet.  I also got a start on a new collection of fiction with the final book in the Eragon series (it's about a dragon) and the Harry Potter book, Tales of the Bard.  Chris got a calendar (a traditional gift from me), some slippers, and one of those picture frames you can load like a computer.  Now I have to figure out how it works.  I did hastily carve her out a tribute to the year with my new carving tools.  Very simple.  It's kind of a tree ornament that says "Ike 2008."    My favorite gift of the whole day, though, was one that I gave Chris.  One of the things we salvaged was an old poster that we bought back in our hippie days right after we were married.  With Nathan and April's help, I had the old poster framed in a very nice frame.   The poster says, "Let there be such oneness between you that when one cries, the other will taste salt."  It was frayed on the edges, ripped in a few places, and generally pretty wrinkled up.  But it immediately became a symbol of our love and our relationship.  It lasted (as did our relationship!) over thirty-three years - through hot summers in Houston, ice storms in Mansfield, and blizzards in Denver.  It held up through college, seminary, kids, and grandkids.  It's been sticky-tac'ed in the living room, thumbtacked in the garage, and rolled up in the pantry.  It has survived apartment fires and island-wide floods.  As have we.  I love you, Chris.   "Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away.  If one were to give all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned." - Song of Solomon 8:7   Father, I love you, too.  My life together with Chris is but a dim reflection of the gift – the life – you have given both of us with you.  Thank you.  Amen.