CHRISTMAS LETTER 2022

“The Lucy Stories”

“I LOVE to laugh!” Grams said, clasping her hands together with glee, giggling into my ear as she gazed upon the yuletide commotion of our Schramm Family Christmas.

To some, this statement may seem quite elementary. But as she guided the light of her memories through the fog of Alzheimer’s, with this exclamation, the bedrock of my grandmother’s silly heart shone through, as she enjoyed watching her family celebrate together her favorite holiday... and this delighted my heart. In this moment my mind temporarily left the room, remembering the many times my grandmother and I shared a good laugh.

~~~~~~~~~

There was something enchanting and whimsical about staying overnight at my grandparents’ house during the holidays. The Christmas decorations transformed their home magically into a fairytale Christmas village. The LGB train under the Christmas tree had the ability to transport us anywhere our imaginations wanted to take us. The Christmas toys that adorned the shelves throughout the month of December provided hours and hours of entertainment, and became a trophy of the familial commitment to silliness. The Santa and sleigh in the front yard brought childish wonder, emphasizing the spirit of giving that heralded the season. The twinkle lights in each bush, tree, and wreath sent a message to passers by on Nottingham Drive, that “THOSE WHO GATHER HERE BELIEVE!”

The announcement of bedtime was welcomed with anticipation when one stayed at Casa Nottingham. We knew the moment that Gramps trumpeted, “Brickhead, I’m Goin’ To Bed,” it meant that soon Gramps would be fast asleep and singing his Mairsy Doats; and once Gramps was asleep we would be off to bed not long after to enjoy story time with Grams. We would make our way down the narrow hallway adorned with ancient family photos, past Grandpa’s bedroom door as he sang his slumber-some symphonies, to the room that housed two twin beds. Marty and I would rush to our beds as we anxiously waited for Grams to turn off the lights and make her way to where we were. There would be bartering as to which bed she would lie in as she told us bedtime stories. Some would be fairytales, some stories would contain life lessons, and some would be real life events from her past. I decided that two specific stories my grandmother told us could have been episodes of “I Love Lucy.” If Grams told us these “Lucy Stories” once, she told them a thousand times, as they were among our top favorites. My grandmother’s actions in these two different stories so vividly resembled what could have been her own Lucy-like schemes.

Lucy Story Episode 1 - “The Hat Sale”

In the late 1950’s, earlier in their marriage, my grandparents lived in a modest two story home on Hawthorn Street in Toledo, Ohio. After having left the U.S. Air Forces as a drill sergeant, Grandpa was working for the Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company, while still running his home and finances with militaristic- type precision. One evening after dinner the phone rang.
“Hi Ruth.” Grams said to her sister.
“I would love to go, but I'll have to ask Don.” Grams continued.
Her sister Ruth had called to remind her about the bi-annual designer hat sale that began the next day at Tiedtke’s department store. Grams had heard how amazing this sale was but had never attended.

“Don...” Grams inquired.
Grandpa looked up from reading the paper with the same look of hesitant resistance that he always gave Grams when he had an inkling that she was going to cost him money.
“Is it alright if I go to the Tiedtke’s Hat Sale tomorrow with Mom and Ruth?” Grams asked.
“We can’t exactly afford a new hat right now,” Grandpa replied.
“They’re only five dollars and I’ll only buy one,” she pleaded.
Grandpa reluctantly agreed, “OK. I guess we can afford ONE hat.”
“Just ONE!” he insisted.

The next day Grams went with her mother and sister Ruth to Tiedtke’s in downtown Toledo. Ruth had warned Grams of what she needed to know while navigating this highly attended hat sale. “LOOK QUICKLY,” and “IF YOU FIND SOMETHING YOU LIKE KEEP IT IN YOUR HAND UNTIL YOU DECIDE TO BUY IT.”

Walking through the revolving door, they passed the signature large red coffee bean roasters, and headed to the basement. Once there, they saw rows and rows of tables filled with hundreds of ladies’ hats. Grams couldn’t believe the sheer number of women that had come to this sale! They were nearly shoulder to shoulder. As Grams scanned the tables of hats, she found one that caught her eye. It was black with a shallow top. It boasted a thin white ribbon and a wide floppy brim. The fit was perfect! She held onto it as she continued browsing. Just as she was nearly sure that this black hat was the one she was going to purchase, there appeared the most beautiful pink pillbox hat with sheer netting on the front. Two completely different hats, both beautiful in their own right. As she paused trying to decide which hat she was going home with, a large busty woman bumped into her saying in a coarse brash voice:
“Are you going to buy both of those hats?”

The woman started to grab the black hat from her.
“Yes, yes I am!” Grams shouted back firmly pulling both hats towards herself.

Now she was stuck. She had to purchase both hats. While trying to figure out what she was going to tell Grandpa, she decided that she would just put them both in the closet for a while and he would never notice. Surely he won't say anything she assured herself.

Once she arrived home, she tended to her daily duties of cleaning, dusting, and ironing. Dinner time quickly arrived and as they were enjoying their food, Gramps casually asked, “So? Did you find a hat?”
In 5 years of marriage he had never asked about her purchases in such a way before.
“Yes, I found a Beautiful hat,” Grams replied.
“Well...Can I see it?” Gramps inquired.
“Well...um... I’ve got dishes to do, and some laundry to finish up. I'll show you later,” Grams returned. “Ok,” Gramps replied, not thinking much of it.

After a while, as Grandpa was reading his newspaper, and as Grams bustled around the house in an attempt to still look busy in hopes that he had forgotten his hat inquiry, Gramps asked, “So... how about that hat? Can I see it?”

Utterly baffled that this ONE TIME he was set on seeing her hat, she sheepishly retorted, “Ok... let me go get it.” She then hightailed it upstairs to figure out what she was going to show Grandpa, and how she was going to solve this conundrum. She snuck into her closet, grabbed both hats, and locked herself in the bathroom. There she stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Which hat was she going to show him? She couldn’t let him find out that she had purchased two hats. He would be so mad! With the black hat in her left hand, and the pink hat in her right, back and forth she tried the hats on. Pink hat. Black hat. Pink hat. Black hat. Black hat. Pink ha...

“THAT'S IT!!!” She exclaimed to herself.
“Ohhhhh, Helen,” she said to herself convincingly. “Now if only you can go down there and keep a straight face.”
In the swapping of hats, the tall pink pillbox hat conveniently fell on top of the black large brimmed hat. She slunk back down the stairs, pleased with her idea, and kept a cool and believable demeanor. As she walked into the living room, she had to muster up even more wherewithal to sell her forgery, as she saw the look on his face go from general curiosity to impending dread.
“So... What do you think of my hat?” she inquired.
Grandpa, paused as he ran through scenarios in his head, in which he may have to accompany Grams wearing said unsightly accessory. She waited anxiously for some sort of response from him. Gramps realizing he had to say SOMETHING... said:

“Oh My God, Helen.... Where the hell are you EVER gonna wear that?”
Grandma now holding back a burst of laughter muttered out:
“To Church.”
Seeing that gramps was mortified to go out in public with her wearing this ghastly thing... Grams sheepishly retorted:

“Would you feel better if it were two hats?”

With a sigh of relief, he realized that this one, very tall, very wide, very hideous hat was, in fact, two quite beautiful hats. He then responded as he often did to Grams’ shenanigans..

“Funny Helen.... REAL funny!”

~~~~~~~~~

“OK, everyone find a seat! It’s time for The Night Before Christmas.” I heard my aunt gathering everyone and my mind quickly returned to the room. Every year Grams would have my brother read a few stanzas of The Night Before Christmas and then stop before the end of a phrase and collectively we were to come up with the rest of the line. This was probably one of my favorite parts of our holiday traditions, as we were to all surely have a good laugh, as family member after family member struggled to remember the words of the story we read every year.

Marty had now gotten to the last line, “But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,”

The entire family joined in, in thunderous glee. “MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT.” The family then cheered as we always did with much laughter. As we finished this beloved yuletide tradition, I looked over at my grandmother to see her twinkling, smiling Irish eyes. As the evening progressed I watched her manage to simultaneously expel all signs of the Alzheimer’s fog plaguing her, as she successfully spent an intimately special moment with each of my cousins and siblings amidst the family frenzy of Christmas togetherness. As if by magic, each one of us organically found our moment to take a seat at her side. When I found my chance to sit next to Grams, she smiled so lovingly as she caressed my cheek with her hand, saying the two words that could always make my heart melt, while just the same, making me feel on top of the world.
“My Tony,” she said softly.

As I heard the shutter click of my aunt's camera capturing this moment, my mind rushed back to the joy of bedtime stories with Grams.

~~~~~~~~~

“Just one more story, please?” Marty pleaded
“OK, one more.” Grams replied, as she began the next story...

Lucy Story Episode 2 - “The Sock Story”

Once upon a time many years ago, when your grandfather worked in the produce department of the A&P Grocery stores, he would spend all day at work, and come home smelling like fresh produce. I would have spent all day cleaning, doing the laundry, ironing the clothes, and making the beds. Back then, when your grandfather slept, he wrestled around so much that by the time morning came not a single blanket was left on the bed. So every day while he was at work, I would make sure the house was perfect for when he arrived home. The bed would be perfectly made and the house would smell of fresh linens.

Your grandfather would come home, take off his shoes, and leave his socks right on the floor on my side of the bed. I would say to your grandfather,
“Don, would you please put your socks in the hamper? They stink.”
And he would grunt back at me, “MY SOCKS DON’T STINK!”

Day after day after day this would happen... he would drop his socks, I would say they stink, and he would assure me that they didn’t stink. I worked so hard throughout the day to make the house perfect and there his socks would be, stinking up the bedroom, and boy were they STINKY!
One evening after working exceptionally hard during the day, and his socks being exceptionally STINKY, I had had enough! Soooo... I conceived an idea! With the bed so perfectly made, I took his socks, and placed them under his pillow case right where his nose would rest that evening. I went about the rest of my evening, anticipating nighttime when we would go to bed. Maybe he would finally agree about his stinky socks.

That night I put my nightgown on, climbed into bed, and immediately pretended to be asleep. Your grandfather got into bed, turned out the light and tried to fall asleep. At first he tossed and turned and rustled around and finally tapped me on my shoulder and said...
“Helen, something stinks in this room.”
I told him that I didn’t smell anything and that he should just go back to sleep.
A second time your grandfather said,
“Helen, something REALLY stinks in this room!”
Trying not to laugh I said to him,
“Don, I'm telling you I don’t smell anything. Now PLEASE go back to sleep!”
After a few more moments of grunting and growling your grandfather JUMPED out of bed, turned on the light and bellowed,
“DAMN IT HELEN! I”M TELLING YOU SOMETHING STINKS!”
Now trying really hard not to laugh, I said to your grandpa,
“Don, I don’t smell anything... but maybe you should check under your pillow.”
He reached under his pillowcase— pulled out his stinky work socks— and said to me what he always said to me...
“Funny Helen, REAL Funny!”
He then marched into the bathroom, threw his stinky socks into the hamper, and slammed the lid.
Never again did he leave his socks on the side of the bed.

My brother and I giggled with glee as Grams got up from the bed, turned on the music box to put us to sleep as she said,

“Sweet repose...”
And as she finished the line “...Slam the door on the doctor’s nose”

Marty and I retorted .. “GO TO BED AND PICK YOUR NOSE!”

~~~~~~~~~

As my grandmother always said:

"Put a smile on your face, and a song in your heart."

Our prayer for you this holiday season is that, even through life's struggles, life's frustrations, and when things just don't go your way, that you remember to keep smiling and to keep singing.

Proverbs 17:22 (Amplified)

A happy heart is good medicine and a joyful mind causes healing, But a broken spirit dries up the bones.

May you remember that Christ came into a downtrodden and hurting world. A world where many were awaiting a Savior, just as we still await the Savior today. A very bright Light broke the darkness, and heralded the Child's arrival. Christ became one of us, and grew just as we grow. He cried just as we cry, and he experienced troubling times, just as we have. He went about his Father's business and brought great light and love into our world, to gather us all in as family. No matter who you are, or where you are on life's journey, you are welcome into this family. May you find joy and peace in the coming year, and may you remember from where your laughter and merry heart comes.

CHRISTMAS LETTER 2020

Entertaining Angels  

Over the river and through the woods,  

To grandmother's house we go;  

The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh,  

Through (the) white and drifted snow!  

Over the river and through the woods,  

Oh, how the wind does blow!  

It stings the toes and bites the nose,  

As over the ground we go.

Those that know me, know very well the relationship I had with my grandparents. Everything I  do, everything that inspires me, everything that motivates me, has some nod towards the  grandparents that have made my life, though I’m only in my 30s, already so well-lived.  

Every child, at some point, imagines the trek to grandma's house as being as whimsical as the lyrics of this  song. For my cousins, my siblings and me, these lyrics resembled the real thing! We made the trek to Nottingham Drive, to the house that held the magic, the love, and the power of the Christmas season.  

A visit to Grama’s house was always something to look forward to. Every visit was more magical,  fanciful, and enchanting as the last. Grama’s house was a Narnia of adventure and escape any  time of the year, but an overnight visit to Gram & Gramps’ house during the Holiday season was  as whimsical as taking a visit to Santa’s village days before the “big ride.” 

Grams did her very best to make an overnight visit, one of pampering, one of love, one of  lessons, one of stories, one surrounded by the importance of the love of family. We would arrive  with bags in hand, full of anticipation, and leave with full hearts, full stomachs, and full dreams.  One could expect many things to be on the itinerary of our overnight stay. In the evening Grams  would make dinner which always included some type of special dessert. In the winter months  one could be assured that after dinner, “spa time” was not far off. The back room that housed  Grama’s present wrapping station also housed the jacuzzi tub. If you had forgotten to pack a  swimsuit, no worries!  Grams had one just for you in a special basket in the closet. After a dip in  the jacuzzi, Grams would wrap us up tight in the Lincoln bedroom robe to dry us off. After we put  on our jimmy-jammies Grams would give us the full spa treatment including a massage with lotion, trimming and buffing our nails, and maybe even helping us work on our  ability to focus with a game of “Concentration.” As a child, “Concentration” was a delightfully  torturous game of varying levels, depending on how much one had mastered the art of concentrating. To become an expert at Concentration, we had to have zen-like focus and not twitch, squirm, or laugh when Grams would tickle the bottom of our feet. Experts, like myself, could lay there motionless and seemingly unaffected, while novices, like my brother Marty, would  flounder and wriggle at just the sheer thought and mention of the game, and the minute Grams would touch his foot he would erupt with giggles and shrill squeals like a banshee. I'm sure he may have eventually gotten better, but I can still hear both him and Grams laughing hysterically.  What joy I’m sure it brought to her to hear our laughter. Even I, in moments of weakness, let the  pressure of the game get to me, and I would let out a percussive burst of laughter. Grams would  instantly smile that Irish smile, having just bested the masters of her game, saying  “CONCENTRATION! CONCENTRATION!”  

As bedtime would draw near, we would run to Grandpa's chair adjacent to the big wall of  windows in the family room. I can still feel the sandpaper scratch of Grandpas, by then, five- o’clock shadow on his chin and the hint of black velvet whisky aroma on his breath. Gramps, just  finishing his nightcap, would hug us and tell us,  

“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite!”  

As an adult, the notion of this saying makes my skin crawl, but as kids it made us giggle with  glee as Grams would take us by the hand and tuck us into the twin beds in the bedroom at the  end of the hall. Marty in the bed against the wall, and me in the bed next to the door, excitedly  argued over whose bed Grama would lie in as she told us our bedtime stories.  

Grams’ bedtime stories were fact and fiction. They were fairy tales and memories of her childhood.  They were sheer silliness to make us laugh, and some stories were lessons on being a good person. If we  heard these stories once, we heard them a million times! If asked, each of us could take over telling the story of “Good Mary, and Bad Mary,” or “Grama Reed and the Outhouse,” or  “Norris Dam,” or the stories we had given the title “Grams’ Lucy Stories,” as we were convinced these true stories could easily have become an I LOVE LUCY episode. Sometimes she would  tell us stories of relatives gone before us, of what they had meant to her, and how she imagined that they were her guardian Angels. After we had convinced Gram to tell “Just one more story,” Grams would twist up the bedside music boxes and we would drift off to sleep to the tune of “Let Me  Call You Sweetheart.”  Peacefully we would sleep without a care in the world, knowing we were in the safest place in the world. No burglar or boogy-man would dare cross the threshold of Grandpa’s protective domain.

In the morning we would wake to the smell of recently percolated  coffee, Grams’ morning spritz of her perfume, and freshly baked doughnuts Gramps brought back for us from his grocery store, Pantry Pride, just a few minutes into town. Reluctantly, we would leave as Mom and Dad would be there bright and early to pick us up.  Anxiously, we  would await the next chance to get away and spend the night with Gram & Gramps. It was in this  comfort of “Home” that our hearts and minds were opened to all the many lessons Gram & Gramps  had to teach us.

Hebrews 13:2  

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without  knowing it.  

Throughout my childhood, time after time, my grandmother would talk to us about angels. In my  own faith journey, my beliefs on angels changed and were oftentimes unsure. Having figured out  the tooth fairy, the Easter bunny, and even Santa Clause, my belief in angels was skeptical at  best. My grandmother, however, was fully convinced that angels did exist and that they went  about doing God’s good works. I believed, of course, but as far as I was concerned angels were  only in Heaven and that they were daily singing praises to God, not out on missions amongst us here on earth.  Even in my early 30’s, I was unsure of what I believed, but, as I now look back, there were two instances that changed my thoughts forever. My grandmother, in the last breath of her life, taught me a final lesson that solidified my beliefs on the existence of the heavenly hosts, and, in reflection, a second experience that, in fact, happened first, caused me to be a true believer.  May these two instances build your faith as they did mine.  

“Grounded flight”  

There have been multitudes of unexplainable, miraculous events in my life, but none so finite as  my grandmother’s final lesson on angels. It was thanks to that final lesson that I can now  relate to you this particular event that happened.  I am convinced that during this alarming crisis, my family and I entertained angels unaware.  

In the evening of July 14th, 2015, I got one of those phone calls that everyone prays they never  have to receive. 

“Tone, it’s Mom. Gramps was in an accident. I don’t know anything yet but I’m on my way to the  hospital.”  

With that, I rushed to my car and hurried to the hospital. As I drove past the site of the accident,  my heart sank to my stomach as I saw Grandpa’s mangled van on the side of the road, just  outside the care facility in which Grama lived.  

As I arrived at the emergency room I met my mother who was standing outside, calling family members.  

“It’s bad”, Mom said, “They are going to have to air flight him to Toledo.”  

“I just want to warn you: he’s knocked out, and his head is badly cut.” 

As I walked into the room, there lay a man I hardly recognized, cut and bruised, eyes black and  blue, with white gauze wrapped around his head like a mummy. Next to him sat my usually  jovial uncle, wrought with fear and concern.  We had all dropped everything to rush to  Grandpa's side. Then, as if we hadn’t heard enough bad news, a staff member walked in to explain to us that due to the weather, the flight crew had been grounded. They are coming from  Columbus and will be here as soon as they can.  They will then drive Gramps to Toledo in a special Medical Transport Ambulance. It was going to be over an hour before the flight crew would arrive and the wait was torture.

As it turned out, Grampa made it home healthy and in one piece, all stitched up and on the mend. Not until  years later, in a conversation with my mother, did we both realize we had Entertained Angels Unaware. 

It was the Flight Team. 

When the flight team arrived at the hospital, it was like a scene from a movie. I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m thoroughly convinced that as we watched the three of them march side by side, and in step, down the long emergency room corridor, fog nestled on the floor, making it look like they  were walking on clouds. There were two tall strong strikingly handsome men, and a beautifully petite woman with long flowing hair, so blonde that it was almost golden. All three were wearing navy blue form fitting jumpsuits. They entered the room like a precision drill team and began attending to my grandfather to prepare him for “Flight.” As we sat looking on as they  worked, it was as if time and motion around us ceased, and it was just them in our focus so graciously attending to our patriarch. They moved with such quick and calculated precision that my mother and I exchanged looks. Unspoken, we both decided, “We are not going to let them leave  until we pray.” 

Once the perfect moment presented itself, my mother spoke up, “Can we pray before you  leave?” 

The flight team obliged as if they had expected us to make the request, instantly halting their  preparations. As we prayed, they stood protectively over my grandfather as if they were soldiers having just been called to attention. I have no other words to describe it except that the energy in the room drastically changed. The weight of trauma had been escorted out of the room and what was left  was a blanket of peace.  

With the words, “In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen,”  the flight team snapped back into action and they whisked away my grandfather. Again, as  we watched them disappear down the corridor, it was as if fog flowed out from the baseboards and was whooshed aside as they cut through the center of it.  

“Touched By An Angel”  

Psalm 91:11  

For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.  

“I’ll be there every step of the way- If you’ll let me.” 

Those are the words said to me three years prior, that made me realize that Tyler was the man God had  planned for me to marry. I had prayed fervently, for a long time, that when what I knew would be  the most difficult season of my life came to pass, God would put that special man in my life to be the rock that I was going to need. My grandparents were getting older. Grams had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's and Lewy Body Dementia, and I knew that the season was nigh.  

Tyler, had just a hint of time to get to know my grandmother, only seeing glimpses of the woman  she was, yet still having had the opportunity to hear her call him, One Of Her Boys. He was  there to see the wonderful celebration of her 86th birthday, at which time she seemed to come out of  the fog of Alzheimers to visit with us.  That would end up being the last time. 

Just three days later, he and I sat quietly in her room watching her struggle to swallow thickened water. When we had received the diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, I had learned all I could, and had  prepared myself mentally for what I thought were all situations. What I had not prepared  for was having to see my grandmother forget how to eat. It was December 10th,  2016, and though I knew it was about time for us to leave her room for the evening, I tarried. I  wouldn’t leave until my grandfather had promised me that if he felt there was a need, that he would be sure to call us back. So, we went home and went to bed for the night. I was already exhausted as the Christmas baking season had begun and I had just worked a 12- hour day in the family bakery. It was not difficult for me to fall asleep that night. I was asleep for what  felt like seconds. And yet two hours had passed when I was jolted awake by my ringing cell phone.  My heart dropped, for inside I knew.  I cried out to heaven, “Lord Jesus,  It’s Grama”.  

Though it was not the call saying she was gone, it was my father saying Grandpa was calling us  all back in. I debated waking Tyler, knowing he had an early shift in the morning, but selfishly I  woke him.  We rushed to Grama’s room. Living only three country blocks away, we were the  first to arrive. Rapidly, one by one my family members rushed in and we all sat there in dreaded anticipation.  As we listened to her breath become more shallow and distant, the moments passed. I encouraged the rest of my family to take their time at my grandmother’s side, for I wanted time to linger at her side during her final moments. As my turn arrived, I motioned for Tyler to join me.  He hesitated knowing that I needed this time for just me and Grams.  

And he will raise you up on eagle's wings,  

bear you on the breath of dawn, 

make you to shine like the sun, 

and hold you in the palm of his hand. 

This song, “On Eagles Wings” has played such a powerful part of my life. As my  grandmother’s favorite hymn, it was played and performed on many occasions. This song gave my grandmother strength through particularly difficult times, especially when she just needed to be  overwhelmed with God’s peace.  

As I sat in a folding chair, in a small foot path between Grams’ bed and the window, I grabbed  her hand and began to pray. Knowing that due to Alzheimer's, communication was difficult, I  prayed in hopes that God would pass along to her spirit all the things I wanted my  grandmother to know. After praying, I softly began to sing, just loud enough that only Gram’s  and I could hear it. As I sang my grandfather would sometimes look over at me as if he too could hear me singing. This was the moment. This was the time that my grandmother, in her last moments, would teach me one last important life lesson about angels.  

Whilst singing “On Eagles Wings,” the background sounds I was hearing in the room began to change. First there was the quiet chatter in the room as I sang.  Then it became a more  silencing tunnel vision-type hearing that muted out the rest of the noise in the room. It was as if the only two people were now just me singing to my grandmother.  Verse by verse I continued to sing. As I sang, I began to hear a soft chatter. Not a chatter from my family in the room, not a  chatter from the nurses station across the hall, but a soft chatter from a new group of voices that  seemed to be coming from the head of Grams’ bed, though all that was visible was a brick wall of medical equipment. My singing never ceased as I continued to hear this group of voices, though I could not hear what the voices were saying. 

For to his angels he's given a command  

to guard you in all of your ways; 

upon their hands they will bear you up, 

lest you dash your foot against a stone. 

As I reached this verse of the song, the invisible voices halted. In the moment it took my  mind to realize that the voices had stopped, I felt a hand touch my hand that was holding my grandmother’s hand. With that, I then heard a single voice, a voice that didn’t fill me with fear, but rather, a voice that filled me with peace… 

“It’s ok.”  

“You can stop singing.” 

“She’s asleep.” 

Instantly, I knew that I had sung my grandmother to sleep- heavenly sleep. I took a moment to  process that I had literally just been touched by an angel. I took a moment to pray and thank  God for this beautiful life of my grandmother. As it took me a second to build the strength to say  something, my aunt stood up and said, “I think she’s gone”. 

“Yes, she is.” I said.  

After all the overnight stays over the years, after all the bedtime stories, after all the silly games  and silly songs, after all the life lessons taught, and after all the golden rules recited, my  grandmother leaving this earth, left me with a new and stronger truth. A more secure faith in the  workings of the loving God in which we had been taught in our youth to love with all of our  heart, soul, mind, and strength. Angels were no longer that which only adorned the top of the  Christmas tree, for Grams had given me so much more to believe in. I am convinced now that  God had sent a host of angels to tend to my grandmother as she crossed from earthly life to  heavenly rest, awaiting the glory of the return of Christ. I now have peace in my heart that in  those last moments, my beloved grandmother was ever so comforted by their presence: that  she felt safe enough, just like we would when staying at her house, to drift softly to sleep with  the music guiding her way. In this, I give thanks.  

We are reminded in The Christmas story how angels arrived to make a great announcement. To  the shepherds they brought tidings of great joy of the arrival of the awaited King. To Joseph, they brought, in a dream, strength and confidence to keep going. To Mary they brought comfort and peace and God’s grand favor. To you they bring just one more way that God can show his love and protection for you in all of your days. 

As this very difficult year comes to a close, may you take time to pause and just listen. May you  meditate on how God has already sent angels on your behalf, and may you center your  eyes with diligent focus to see the future in which God’s heavenly hosts will be in your midst.  

CHRISTMAS LETTER 2019

“Finding Santa”

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,

The bakery was closed now, for all the cookies were sold out.

the stockings were hung, cookies and milk prepared,

Excited we placed them for when Santa got there.

Marty and I nestled all snug in our beds,

While visions of Christmas-morn’ danced in our heads.

Mom on the couch, dad in the chair,

Soon to their bed they would trek up the stairs.

as I lay in my bed this particular Christmas eve night,

No one else had a clue that something — just wasn’t right.

It was Christmas Eve of 1994, I was a creative and imaginative little boy of 10 years old. Christmas was always my favorite time of year, it was ingrained into me from my very first memory. I had always loved when December rolled around. I baked cookies, I helped put up decorations, I wrote letters to Santa, and when the 24th rolled around I made sure we put out our cookies and milk for Santa, carrots for the reindeer, and a note to Santa thanking him for coming again to visit. Like clockwork I did everything just as we usually would, but, this year I did my best to not let my family know what I truly was feeling… did the man in the big red suit -- the man who’s cheeks were like roses and nose like a cherry, whose belly shook like a bowl full of jelly…St. Nick, Father Christmas… did he TRULY Exist???

Christmas was a high holiday in my family, my grandparents did an awe inspiring job of making Christmas beyond special for us kids. My grandparents were a special couple. Gramps; a true man of his time, a retired air force drill sergeant, who ran his home, his garden, and his successful Grocery business as if he was still that stern drill sergeant. Grams also came from a hard working family, but was able to keep her beloved smile and silly heart that we all loved.  if you looked hard enough, you could see the power source of the Christmas spirit in that Irish twinkle in her eyes. it was that twinkle in her eyes, that like alluring magic, so easily welcomed strangers, cultivated friendships, and without words assured her family how much we were loved.  Though grandpa’s reputation of being large and in-charge preceded him, there was never a doubt in our hearts of how much he loved his family.  If one were to pay close attention you could catch the Christmas spirit spontaneously combust out of Gramps in the most random of moments. HIS silly heart would more often show as Christmas got closer. It was more common for him to be found randomly singing and dancing with cheer, he would have more of a holiday jig in his step.

The Christmas season began like clockwork each year. Starting sometime in the month of October, Grams would lock up the back room in their house, and that was the first giveaway that Christmas time was near. We never knew when, exactly, it would happen but one day Grams would say:

“Ok boys, I’ve locked up the back room until Christmas”.

This was our stern warning to go nowhere near the back room for fear that if we did, come Christmas, there wouldn’t be a single gift under the tree for us. All of a sudden the back room that we knew suddenly turned into a mysterious type of paradise that housed the spirit and magic of Christmas just like the North pole. This room is where grams would store and wrap the Christmas gifts for not only all of our family, but her friends, and for those people she had adopted as honorary family members. Grams’ gift of decoration flowed through to her ornately wrapped gifts. She wielded a glue gun like a painters hand flowed with a brush. Each gifts corners were perfectly pressed. Starbursts of bows and garland adorned the focal point of her gift wrapping. I’m now confident that with each stroke of her glue gun, Grams’ silly heart knew it made it more difficult for us to open our gifts, and with that she got more glee and entertainment out of watching us trying to open them. She picked out wrapping paper like a tailor would jury out the best fabric. When you received a gift wrapped by my grandmother you knew that she spent as much time making sure the packaging was beautiful as she did picking out the gift. You knew that her gift wrapping was a masterpiece of art in itself.

The day after thanksgiving is when the decorations went up at the house on Nottingham.  The sleigh and wooden reindeer went up led by Mr. Claus himself. All so perfectly lit in the middle of the front yard.

“I don't know boys, I think this is the last year we will put up Clause” grandpa would say every year, but as the next year came around Santa would faithfully go up with our help.

The tree in the main family room went up with its handmade wooden ornaments brought back from one of their trips to Germany in the early 80’s. The living room shelf would transform from shelves that held Grams’ nicknacks, trinkets, and music boxes, to shelves of Christmas animated and battery powered toys. One of my favorite things to help put up was my grandmother’s rather large collection of Clothtique Santa’s.  The construction of the Christmas decorations, though always a stressful task, seemed to bring out the best in my grandfather.

If it's not already evident, the deep roots of my Christmas spirit were planted by all the things my grandparents did for us, which is why it's so perfect that this specific year my grams began teaching me  from where the true beacon of Christmas poured its magic, powering our Christmas spirit.

In no way did I want to stop believing in the man in the big red suit, but thanks to older and wiser kids at school I decided I no longer believed. As Christmas got closer and closer that year I was more and more distant when it came to talking about Santa. I tried to stay very removed from the whole Clause subject. As much as I didn't want anyone to find out I secretly deep down hoped Grams would catch on to what was bothering me.

Finally one December afternoon Grams just came out and asked me as we were sitting in the inclosed back porch:

“What's bothering my Tony Today?”

“Well gram,” I replied, “I don't think I believe in Santa this year”

Grams paused a moment calculating her next move, so I told her how some older kids at school were laughing about how there were kids that still believed in Santa, and how since I had already figured out the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny I just no longer believed.

Grams smiled that Irish smile that was always so comforting to see.

“Of course you figured out the Easter bunny and the tooth fairy, you're a smart boy, but even I still believe in Santa!” Grams said.

“DON!” She bellowed from the porch into the house to my grandfather sitting in the living room.

“Yes, Gert?” He replied.

Gert, short for Gertrude, her middle name, was a nickname he used for grams sometimes is a puckish yet endearing manner.

“Don,” she said as he stood at the doorway of the porch, “you believe in Santa don’t you?”

“Of course I believe in ole’ Clause!” he blurted back, with a sheepish and inquisitive look in his eyes, never knowing exactly what my grandmother was scheming.

“See… Even your grandpa believes in Santa!” She said to me with a joyful smile on her face.

She could obviously see I was confused and trying to figure out how they could possibly believe, and how I was unsure of what I believed, because then she looked at me with a very serious look and said something that would embark me on my quest to find Santa. Something she would also end up saying to my brother years later.

“So… would you rather tell your brother and ruin the excitement for him, or would you like to help make the magic happen?”

Excitedly, but without any clue of what could possibly happen next I blurted out; “I want to help make the magic happen!”

“Ok, let's GO!” she said as she extended her hand to take mine.

As I took her hand she eagerly led me to the back room, that up to this point, entrance had been forbidden to me. It was a threshold I dare not cross for fear of a gift-less Christmas.

“Wait here,” she said as we got to the french doors with frosted and beveled glass.

Though I had seen the room before many times when it wasn’t in Christmas mode, I stood at the doorway with my imagination running rampant with ideas of what it could possibly look like inside. From inside, I could hear shuffling and wrestling around as she prepared for me to set foot inside this magical land where Christmas dreams came true! Finally, Grams emerged from the gateway to Christmas Land, and as the french doors opened it was like I had stepped right into Santa's workshop. Along the Eastern wall of the room were stacks upon stacks of meticulously wrapped gifts glittering and gleaming from the shiny wrapping paper and sparkly adornments of tinsel and bows of all shapes sizes, and all colors of the rainbow.

Prior to this moment, this gorgeous display was all that was familiar to my childhood memories. When Saturday night of our family Christmas festivities arrived each year, once we returned to their house after church and dinner, Grams would call us kids to come back and bring the gifts from the back room to the main family living room. Once all the gifts were distributed to the proper owner Grams said, “GO!” , and flying bows and wrapping paper shreds would fill the air as grandpa struggled to gather it all into garbage bags.

Once I was able to take my eyes away from this mountainous wall of gifts, I started to see the rest of the room where the true magic happened.  Along the western wall, sat stacks of shopping bags full of gifts and supplies for Grams to do her magic. Along the southern wall is where the gifts were organized and labeled with post-it notes who it was for, reminders to buy batteries, and sometimes a note with which wrapping paper she wanted to use with that gift. Along the Northern Wall was the storage area for Grama-Clause’s workshop. Containers full of ribbons and bows, all sizes and colors of wrapping paper, boxes for wrapping, bulk amounts of tape, tissue paper, and tinsel were organized along the wall. In center of the room sat Grams' work table filled with the needed tools and accoutrements; Tape, scissors, ribbon cutters/shredders/curlers, and like a chef wields his knife, her multiple sizes of Glue guns sat meticulously placed ready fo her to grab as needed.

“Was this where I would find Santa?”  I couldn’t help but ask myself.

Grams proceeded to show me all of her work like the master showing the apprentice. The remaining days and weeks leading up to the family party I helped Grams wrap all the remaining gifts, stuffed the stockings, as well as all the other usual things we would do to prepare for the wonderful Schramm gathering! I had yet to find my belief in Santa again, but at-least I was able to be one of his “Helpers”.

Finally the weekend arrived, the weekend of the Big Schramm extravaganza. For every year that grandpa was a grocer, our party always fell on the weekend before the week before Christmas. Many family members worked for him and the week before Christmas was the busiest week of the year. The weekend before was always the easiest to get everyone together. Bluffing through the family Christmas party was easy, due to the overwhelming whirlwind that was our Schramm family Christmas weekend. How could I not be bursting with Christmas cheer when our family gathered? So, it was super easy to not show my wavering belief in Santa, even when Father Christmas himself came for a visit as he did every year. The true challenge would be getting through Christmas Eve and Christmas Day without breaking my cover.

Christmas Eve arrived and my performance began, I was not about to let my brother find out what I knew, regardless of what I believed. We put out our cookies and milk, we wrote our note, and we woke up  on Christmas morning to gifts from Santa just like we did every year. I wasn’t about to ruin the magic of Christmas for him. Christmas came and went that year and Marty wasn't the wiser. I had preserved the magic of Christmas for him and it felt good. However, to say that just because I helped Grams wrap some gifts I found what I was looking for would be a farce.

As years progressed the time came where my brother Marty admitted to Grams, that he had found the exact gift he asked Santa for in my parents closet, and that he too no longer believed. Though I was a bit more hopeful when I told Grams I no longer believed, Marty however was a bit more angry and disappointed. Grams called Marty over to her lap in the same fashion she said to him:

“Marty, I know you’re disappointed, but, you have a baby brother and two younger cousins, you don’t want to ruin the magic for them do you?”

“…No…” Marty said sheepishly and hesitantly.

“Ok Then,” Gram smiled, “how about you help make the magic happen?”

“Ok!" Marty replied, as you could see the excitement slowly return to his face.

Grams replied, “So put a smile on your face and a song in your heart”

Grams then kissed Marty and then rubbed her chin into his neck which would always make us laugh and squirm. Gram then reached for her purse, she grabbed her monthly planner where she kept all of her appointments, and revealed two ornament shaped pieces of construction paper with a piece of ribbon connected to them. Written on the red ornament was: “BOY 9-11yrs," written on the green ornament was: “BOY 12-14yrs”. She handed the red one to Marty, and to me she handed the green ornament.

“I want you both to hold onto these.” She said, “We are all going to go for a drive, and when we arrive at our destination I will tell you what these are for.”

We grabbed our coats and off we went, Gram, Gramps, Marty, and I.  as we arrived at Toys R Us, Gram gave us our instructions:

“Ok boys, Pull out the ornaments I gave you. These ornaments are from the giving tree at church. We are going to go in and pick out a toy or two for a child that is your age, to give a less fortunate child a good Christmas. We aren’t picking out anything for ourselves today. We are getting gifts for a total stranger, and can you imagine how excited these kids will be to get a special Christmas gift this year?”

We rushed inside because there was something about picking out a toy for someone our age that made it just as exciting as picking out a toy for ourselves. Once we picked out the toy, and Grams approved, we rushed home. Gram then let us help wrap them and take them to the church, and place them under the giving tree. This then became a tradition we would do every year throughout our teenage years.

As each years went by, I would help do more and more, as Grams could do less and less. With each year she would let Marty and I be a part of something special in the making of our family Christmas. It was in these years that my trek for Santa was completed. With each passing year I would see my family come in for our big event and each year I would see their faces enjoy this special homecoming. Our family Christmas was truly a combination of “A Wonderful life," “White Christmas," and a Norman Rockwell painting, with a hint of the Grizwalds. With each special moment that happened, Grams would just give me a WINK, and as if my heart had just seen the true face of Santa, I would be filled with the Magic. One year, Marty and I even did a photo shoot of me in a Santa suit, to give to our youngest brother Michael, to show him photographic proof that Santa came that year.

I don’t remember exactly what year it was, but, the year that my heart truly realized that I had found Santa again, my grandmother gave me the best gift ever.  One random day when I cam to visit, Gram asked for my help in the garage. She asked me to pull down the boxes with the Clothtique Santas from the shelf in the garage. I thought this was an odd request because it wasn't time to set up the Santas yet. Once I got them all down, Grams smiled at me and said:

“Tony, I think it’s time for you to take the Santas. I love you so much, and want you to have them.”

Tears began to well up in my eyes as I profusely thanked Grams, and promised to take good care of them. In the deepest part of my heart I wasn’t sure if I was ready for what this truly meant. A few year later after this gift Grams was gone. A year after that Gramps was gone, and the time had come to sell the house on Nottingham, so my family all decided we would have one last Christmas on Nottingham, where we ALL learned the true meaning of Christmas.

How could I possibly pull it off? How could I get through the sorrow of Gram & Gramps not being here to make it one last Christmas “Like it used to be”? Somehow, we did it. I rallied my brothers together and we went to work. I cleaned the Christmas plates and polished the silver, Marty and his wife Andrea fluffed and decorated the tree, Michael set up the train. He also fixed and put batteries in all of the Christmas toys of our childhood. All of the Christmas pictures were hung, Christmas light were strung, and the sleigh and reindeer were placed in the front yard.  The culmination of this hard work was glorified when the family came in just as they had so many times before. Though, the difference this year, was what every single person said the minute they walked in.

“It looks just like it did all those years ago!”

We even had a visit from good ol’ St. Nick, that christmas, that came with gifts and a special message for our family to honor my grandparents and help us through such a difficult Christmas. All of our hearts began the healing process that Christmas, last year. My heart had also arrived at the summit of my personal trek to find the Santa I was seeking. When in a time of reflection, I had realized, as tears flowed freely down my cheeks, that THIS was the Christmas that my grandmother had been preparing me for all those years before.

It didn’t take me all those years to realize what it meant to find Santa. However, not until last Christmas did I realize the entirety of how I now truly had become the Santa that I was seeking. Traditions change. The new ones may be scary even as they are grand, and if you know what Christmas means to you, the traditions are just the wrapping on the true Christmas gift.

I am honored and proud to say I now am a True Believer. Should you have a chance to make it to the North Pole and look in Santa’s red suede bound and gilded lettered book of names, you will see that I come from an Immense family tree of true believers. To be a true believer in Santa one must believe in and exert the ability to inspire others with Christmas cheer. To be a true believer in Santa one must believe that it is truly better to give than to receive. To be a true believer in Santa one must find joy in giving away the presents of love and understanding.  To be a true believer in Santa one much go on their own trek , to find the Santa that resides within.

You NEVER forget your first year AS Santa.

As the Carols sing, “Santa knows that we’re Gods children so that makes everything right”

If one pays close enough attention, just like finding the true Santa, we can find a relationship with our living lord and savior. Christ is ALIVE today at the right hand of our still speaking God. Take time in the silence to hear the still small voice of the kingdom of God which is constantly calling you. Whoever you are you ARE welcome, you ARE worthy, you ARE good in his sight. You can and will find his voice if you are willing to diligently seek him. Don’t put the kingdom of God in a mere Christmas box, but be aware that  there is more than one way to seek a direct connection with the Kingdom. Where ever you are on life’s journey you are welcome here. As you go forth this year it is my prayer for you that you Go forth into the world with peace. Be of good courage. Hold fast to that which is good. Render to no one evil for evil. Strengthen the faint hearted. Support the weak. Help the afflicted. Honor ALL People, while rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit.