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.