"Arizona Christmas" was inspired by my love of white Christmases, my first visit to Tucson, Arizona, and the beautiful white mission church there—the Mission San Xavier del Bac. Maybe you can share my story with your own child or grandchild.
Wishing you all a MERRY CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY HOLIDAY SEASON !!
THE END
ARIZONA CHRISTMAS
Kristi’s brown eyes glared at the blue sky outside.
The radio announcer had just given the temperature: 80 degrees. Now he
continued, “While we enjoy beautiful weather this Christmas Eve here in Desert Springs,
Arizona, the East is preparing for a big snowstorm. At least eight inches are expected by
midnight in most of New England and . . .”
Kristi didn’t wait to hear the rest. Eyes filled
with tears, she turned off the radio and flung herself on her bed. How she
hated it here! It was bad enough they had to move, but to do it right before
Christmas just wasn’t fair.
She closed her eyes and pretended she was in the
white colonial house near Boston where she had spent the eleven years of her
life. Maybe when I open my eyes, this
will all be a bad dream, she thought. But when her younger brother Jeff
burst into the room, she opened her eyes to sunshine instead of snow, Arizona
instead of New England.
“Come on outside,” Jeff said. “Dad’s bought some
lights to put on the house. He says this is the first year he doesn’t have to
worry about freezing his hands off. Then we’re going to string some around the
big saguaro cactus on the front lawn.”
“What lawn?” Kristi asked. “There’s no grass around here.
Just brown earth with a few clumps of cactus. Big deal!”
Jeff looked disgusted. “You know what I mean,” he
said. “Besides, I think the cactus garden is nice. Dad says a lot of them
flower in the spring. You can stay here if you want to. I just came in because Dad
suggested it.”
On his way out, he flung over his shoulder, “I don’t
know why he cares about you anyway. All you’re doing is ruining everybody’s
Christmas.”
No, I’m not,
thought Kristi. Mom and dad ruined it
when they decided to move. Still, Jeff’s worlds hung in the air, and Kristi
wondered if maybe she was being unfair.
Her parents had tried to explain the move to her,
tried to make her understand. Dad had been very unhappy with his selling job.
Here he was in research, something he had always wanted to do.
“Of course, it’s going to be hard on all of us for a
while,” her mother had said. “But the important thing is that we’ll all be
together.”
The smell of molasses cookies and the sound of
Christmas carols drifted through the doorway. For as long as Kristi could
remember, she and Jeff and mom had always baked molasses cookies the afternoon
before Christmas, just as mom had always done with grandma and Aunt Betty when
she was a girl. She felt bad leaving mom to do it alone. Maybe she would help.
Then the radio in the kitchen began playing “Winter Wonderland.” Kristi was
reminded of the snow at home and the desert outside. Instead of joining her
mother, she shut the bedroom door.
Through the open window, she saw Jeff and her father
putting the last of the lights on the saguaro cactus. Its thick, prickly arms
were laced with wires.
“Turn on the lights, dad,” yelled Jeff. The sun was
shining so brightly Kristi couldn’t see that it made any difference whether
they were on or not.
“How does it look?” her father called, seeing her
face at the window.
“It looks dumb,” Kristi answered, “just like everything else around here.”
“It looks dumb,” Kristi answered, “just like everything else around here.”
No one came near her until it was time for supper.
Then, while she ate in stony silence, her parents and Jeff talked about the
Christmas Eve service they were going to in a little while.
“This is the only night of the year when the church
is lit entirely with candles,” her mother said.
“The Michaelsons next door told us that people come from all over, even if they don’t belong to the church,” added her father.
“The Michaelsons next door told us that people come from all over, even if they don’t belong to the church,” added her father.
Dusk was slowly approaching when they left the
house. By the time they reached the church, its white stone wall glowed pink in
the sun’s last rays.
Inside, it was almost dark. A few men were quietly
lighting candles in the wrought-iron chandeliers hanging over the altar. They
threw light on a simple wooden crèche in a garden of red poinsettias.
Kristi’s parents stood uncertainly in the back of
the church. Then they saw the Michaelsons waving them over. “Merry Christmas,”
all the adults said to each other, shaking hands. Jeff and the two Michaelson
boys nodded shyly at each other. Kristi pretended she was invisible.
Suddenly, a hush came over the congregation as a
white-robed children’s choir started up the center aisle. They were singing
“Silent Night,” their faces lit by the single candle each one carried. The
singing swelled as the congregation joined in.
Kristi remained silent, but soon the familiar words
of peace and love and joy began to work their magic. A few minutes later she
was singing her favorite carol, “Joy to the World,” along with everyone else.
When she reached, “let e-e-v’ry-y hea-a-rt, pre-pa-are-hi-im-ro-o-om,” the
words stuck in her throat like a piece of hard candy.
Why, she hadn’t been preparing room for Him at all.
Her heart was so full of resentment, there wasn’t room for anything else—not
her parents, not Jeff, not Jesus. The door was shut, just as her bedroom door
had been shut all afternoon.
Feeling ashamed, she squeezed her mother’s arm and
looked up at her. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you with the cookies this
afternoon.”
Her mother smiled. “I know,” she answered, putting
her arm around Kristi’s shoulder. “I left a few for you to decorate, just in
case.”
Kristi’s father leaned over to give her a kiss.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he said. “Welcome home.”
Kristi kissed him back. Home. New England would
always be a part of her. She knew that, but maybe Arizona could be home, too,
if she gave it a chance.
She looked at the Christ child lying in the
candlelit crib. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered. There was room for Him now.
THE END
