Cancer in the family has swerved me to realize afresh the sweetness of certain old and familiar ways. Like Christmas cards - particularly the snail mail variety. So rather than stand at counter or table, wherever the day's mail gets dumped until we have time for it, I sat down to open most of ours this year.
Their senders could have phoned. Sent electronic greetings. We welcome both. But in our small red card sleigh today sits a stack of remembrances from people (some strangers) who did the impractical thing, the time-consuming, costly thing. Even if they only had time to jot a signature below the scripted greeting.
Another pile waited after I got home from work a few days before Christmas. (Why the Preacher didn't open them, I'm not sure. Perhaps he wanted to save some for me.) As I opened them, I pictured hands folding and tucking, tongues moistening the flaps, faces bunched up at the bitter taste.
This thought almost made a mess of me: by some miracle, they deemed us worth this.
I can't remember which cards tugged me to the brink of tears this year. Quite a few. For sure the big brown envelope with treasure inside: a hand drawn and coloured Christmas card, made by the children of dear friends. And the one with the "wishing you were here," sticker, placed by a former parishioner smack dab centre of the envelope back. (He wondered if we'd soon return to that church two provinces over, to "finish the job." Nope.) And the little packet in the envelope from the Netherlands - a handmade keychain created specially, "in Canadian colours."
But it was also the card with no return address from an almost-forgotten friend, the one that said, "I haven't forgotten you." And the slightly wrinkled card slipped inside a plain white envelope, its upper right quarter obliterated by three stamps still showing their face value - two elderly ones, at 5 cents apiece, and one newer one at 51.
Some of the cards held gift cards or other tangible gifts; others, gifts of a different nature: a prayer, a wish, a greeting, a letter. I marvel at the memories, knowing God chose to place each sender in our lives for reasons and times known only to him.
Christ is the reason for Christmas. But Christ our Saviour is also Christ our community-maker. Our cards, like Ebenezer Scrooge's ghosts, remind me as can no electronic means, of our communities past and present. The licking of the envelope - the kissing of a cheek. The caress of paper - the touch of a hand. The walk to the mailbox - the walk alongside. The folding of the flap - the folding of hands in prayer.
For years our family used our cards as prayer reminders. Long into the New Year we drew out a different one each day. In 2013, as we thank God for the blessing of community, we've decided to bring back that old and familiar way.
