Lost and Found
Every December since our first granddaughter was small, John & I gather our grandchildren together to decorate gingerbread houses. The affair has morphed over the years and taken on more significance as our happy brood has grown to five. The eldest is now a teen and the youngest almost a Kindergartner. John and I construct the houses the night before in a carefully synchronized process leaving the “fun” part for the grandchildren the next day. We offer a buffet of candy and tubes of colored icing for aesthetic touches. The parents drop the children off and enjoy a few childless hours while we transform our dining room table into a sticky but delightful mess. Once the finishing touches are complete, we shoo the children outside so we can clean up and get dinner ready before the parents return.
This year followed much the same pattern. As I watched our five exploring the creek across the way, I noticed our eldest grandson, Mac, was off by himself wandering about head down. It wasn’t long before his cousin ran to the front door to notify us that he had lost his pocket knife.
The knife was a gift from his father. We had given our son one at about the same age. So, the gift was a sort of a rite of passage for Mac. Admittedly, I never understood my husband or my son’s fascination with knives nor the reason to have one. They only seem to be handy when cutting string or opening up a parcel…not reason enough in my mind to lug one around. Yet, I did understand the significance of the gift in our grandson’s mind. So it wasn’t long before I was out there helping him look. Soon John took a turn and then his uncle took the longest stint just as dusk was settling in. When the encroaching darkness dimmed any hopes of finding the knife, they came inside and Mac spun into a quiet despair. It was my husband, John that held out the one hope of finding it in the car, but we wouldn’t know until my son & daughter-in-law returned. So Mac sat quietly amongst his boisterous sugar-filled siblings and cousins to wait.
When Mac’s parents returned, Aunt Jenny & Mac slipped out to see if John’s hunch was right. There was the knife on the seat of the car! It slipped out of Mac’s back pocket on the long ride to our house. When they came back inside, it was as if a switch flipped within Mac. His face brightened and his easy grin returned. I wondered out loud to my son if Mac hadn’t been more worried about disappointing him than losing the knife. My son rightly scoffed at the notion, but turned to remind Mac that a “knife is just a thing” and could never be more important to him than Mac. The rest of the evening was filled with good company, good food, and much cheer.
It wasn’t until the next day that I realized that same evening marked the beginning of the Winter Solstice or the longest night of the year. It is from this point that our days edge toward more light and our dark nights diminish. I couldn’t help but think of Mac plunged into the darkness of despair just as daylight was dimming. No matter how much each of us tried to help, he could not see the hope that his Papa held out to him. I thought of the times I, too, want to give into despair, but then someone takes me by the hand and shines a light with a word, a gesture, or simply offers their love and understanding.
There is so much that is wrong, selfish, and even evil in this world, but if we are willing to look there are thousands of tiny, bright lights shining out to us in the darkness. Like Mac we need to keep looking, but also be open to the hope and forgiveness offered by others. As we wait for the light of Christ this season, I am reminded that we must carry His light to each other even on the darkest of days.
© Catherine Hause