Christmas Perspective: A Story

For the frequent reader of my blog, this is an abnormality. I normally don’t write stories like this on GiANT Perspectives. Yet, this is a story that needs to be told and read. I wrote this in two settings as I mixed several stories of leaders I know, including myself, into a Christmas narrative. If nothing more, this has helped me. I hope it serves you. Please take the moments needed to gain the proper perspective for this Christmas. Seriously. Stop and read this for your benefit and those you love. Enjoy.

 
The highway seemed to never end as John steered his family toward the holiday scene. As a 45-year-old it seemed that the “holiday cheer” happened to him when the holidays were finally over. This year was almost exactly as the previous year - stressful. The last thing he really wanted to do was to spend time with relatives that only knew him for what he did. But that was the stage that was set for him as he exited the highway for a dusty drive over the poorly graded country roads.

It had been years since John had been back home - not in time, but in mind and spirit. When John left to go overseas he took all of his wonder and adventure with him. The farm had been the incubator for his dreams - spending days upon days dreaming while working on the tractors and in the fields. The wonder he had once been known for was now distinctively lost and forgotten. John was a shell of the young dreamer he once knew. Responsibilities, worry, pressure, and insecurity had stolen the adventurous spirit away from the soul of this successful businessman.

A quick jolt of reality hit him as he pulled into the rounded drive of his parent’s homestead. As he saw his sister and his nephews through the windows, there was simply no warm emotions. It was a similar feeling he now brought home to his family every night from work - nights now filled with merely lethargic small talk.

John’s parents saw it in him, as well. They knew John had died. They would never say anything that harsh, but they knew. The world’s system and the pressure to keep up had snuffed the light out of his soul. His demeanor had changed and so had his talk. He was so serious all of the time. John’s wife simply avoided him, and his children worked the system, always being careful not to upset him.

Everyone piled out of the car with the typical cheer that one can imagine at Christmas time. Everyone, that is, except for John. He casually started bringing bags and presents in with efficiency as a rote task master. John’s father played the game and worked hard to not ruffle his feathers. “Son, Merry Christmas,” his father said. “Dad,” went the short reply. While they patted each other on the shoulder, it felt like the last ten Christmas’ before.

The atmosphere was electric as children played, Dean Martin crooned traditional Christmas songs from the old 45, and Gram finished cooking her pumpkin pies. Christmas Eve had finally arrived.

The kids were especially hyper and his sister was officially a “nuisance.” Laura would never stop. She seemed like the only one who had the guts to confront her older brother.

“You are the walking dead, John,” she would say. “Lighten up! I remember when you were full of joy and had a passion to serve and give and impact people. Who stole it, John? What happened to you?” Laura didn’t stop as she moved away from her one-ended conversation with her brother. John overheard her quizzing her nieces on his behavior at home. With that came John’s normal, albeit sudden, blow up and flight out of the house to “get some clean air.”

“Who does she think she is?” he quipped. “She always wanted to be mom. If she would take care of her own worries, maybe she could have kept her husband,” John said in his mind.

John had put on his boots and a thick winter coat as he stomped out to the corn barn. It was a cold night, and John didn’t like the cold. Faced with the cold scene he has just left, however, the old barn was a welcome change.

The memories began to flood him as he strolled past some of the old wheat trucks and an old work bench he had built. He had some great days in that old barn. He had restored an old bed he found in the corner. In the loft he remembered sweating pounds off as he and his buddies hauled hay for his dad. These memories were his friend tonight. He liked who he used to be - everyone did.

Laura was right and he knew it. That is why he was so mad. He hated it when his sister was right. He knew he was dead - dead to himself, dead to God, and dead to his family. And he knew why. He remembered when it started - it was the promotion given to him by Bill Chambrough when he was still at RTS.

John was a great business guy. He had the ability to connect with people and make things happen by moving his ideas into reality. He had been a star at every company he had worked at - he was now on his 5th. He knew it had all started on that day. John really wanted to please Bill, and Bill wanted to be pleased. That is when John slowly began giving himself away to the job and the accolades. That is when he began losing his soul.

“In ten years I went from a noble giver to an ambitious taker,” thought John. He began to get even angrier at himself as he remembered who he once was, and who he had now become. It didn’t help that he was mad at his sister, mad at his parents, and now, mad at himself. He wasn’t done. As he walked around the barn he began to kick at the ground and yell in his heart, “Why are you doing this? Where are you? Why are you always so silent?” These were his questions to God and he didn’t care that it was Christmas time.

John wasn’t cold anymore as he worked himself up into an internal rage. He was mad and he was tired. More importantly, he was done. That is what happens when you are walking as if you are dead - you give up trying to be anything other than what you have become. That was John on Christmas Eve at his family’s farm.

As he turned back to walk through the barn on the way to his “holiday nightmare,” John noticed an old, hand-drawn map, hanging behind his old workbench. “I remember this,” he thought. “My dreams.” It was his old hidden treasure map. So many years later, though, all he could remember putting in the time capsule were a set of old keys, some baseball cards, and a few notes to himself. He couldn’t remember what he wrote, but he did remember what he was like in that season of his life as a 17-year-old farm boy with ambition.

He immediately pulled out his handmade map with coordinates that started with “5 Paces Northwest of the Large Pecan Tree.” He stood there looking at his map with excitement. For a moment he thought about going back to get his son to help him find it, but the recent run-in with his sister, and his own embarrassment for leaving the house as he did, left him to hunt alone. He grabbed a shovel and off he went, straight to the old tree.

As he made his way to the field, he realized that the tree was no longer there. He had forgotten that it had been removed in order to clear land for the new irrigation system. That didn’t stop him, however, as he marched out to the middle of the soybean field with a shovel in one hand and the map in the other.

It took him about 30 minutes to find the area where the stump had been removed. He held out his hand to the Northwest, took 5 paces, and continued to follow the instructions written so many years before. When he finished his final steps he proceeded to dig - not sure what to expect. He wondered if the time capsule would even still be there, in a long forgotten spot now covered by farm equipment. Four holes and one hour later, John heard a chink at the end of his shovel and his heart jumped. Now it was just a matter of getting out the prize without cutting his hand.

As he withdrew the jar, and began gathering the pieces that had been tucked inside, he was reminded once again of who he was when he had buried the capsule, “Before the world took over,” he thought to himself.

“Baseball cards? Anything good? Nope, not really,” he murmured. He pulled out a swiss army knife he remembered using frequently in his early teen years. “A couple of dollars?” He laughed wondering what he must have been thinking. “Maybe I thought I would need some help,” he chuckled. He then pulled out an envelope that had been folded four ways. With one final look he threw the jar back in the hole and began covering his “treasure” so that his father wouldn’t notice the gopher-sized holes on his farm. John stuffed the note in his pocket, not quite ready to face the words from his former self, and then swiftly walked back through the brisk air toward the barn.

By the time he made his way back, and placed the shovel in its proper place against the corner, he had garnered enough courage to sit down inside the dusty barn and read. While he thought he was ready, he had no idea what impact his words from 28 years earlier would have. His mind quipped cynical thoughts, “What did I really know at age 17, anyway?” Nonetheless, he opened the letter and sank deep into a stillness that only occurs once or twice in lifetime. It read as follows…

John. Hey man, it’s me. Do you remember me? If you forget what you are like let me remind you (or myself I guess). You like music. No, you love music (James Taylor, Beatles, CCR, stuff like that). You have great friends (Greg, Jeremy, Andrea, Julie…) You weren’t the coolest guy in high school, but you are friends with almost everybody (except Zach). Your mom and dad are great and your sister is ok. She is a nag, but don’t let that bother you. She always wants what is best for you. And, most of all, you love God. Don’t forget that. Like he is so good and all to you.

John was starting to remember who he was and his memory burst into colors and smells, and he began to smile at himself. The letter went on…

I am writing this to me (or to you) because I want you to remember what is important in life. What do I know? Not much, except that I watch a lot of people make stupid decisions. It seems like all of my friends’ parents are getting divorced, becoming alcoholics or are just plain cranky. It’s like all their jobs and stuff have robbed them of any fun or happiness. Don’t let it happen to me. Serious. I don’t want to be like them. Remember who I am, John. I am fun. I am full of life. I care about stuff. I want good things to happen. That’s why I am writing this. Maybe I can wake myself up if I need it. Here is what I want you to really remember:

1. Don’t forget about God. I see so many people forget how good he is. I know I don’t know much about him really, but I do know this: he loves me and I know he is real and that he expects me to climb up in his lap like we used to do with Pops. Climb up there, John. Hang out with him. Get to know him. I just got off a tractor a little while ago where we spent hours talking together. Don’t forget to talk to him! I mean it, John. Without him you are nothing, and a lot like everyone else.

2. When you get married and have kids, love your family. I watch all of my friends’ parents love everything but each other. Watch out that nothing steals your family, John.

3. Remember to play. You love to play harmonica and the guitar. You love to joke around with friends. You love random road trips. Play hard. Why don’t grownups know how to play and play right? Lighten up!

4. Don’t forget to give it all away. We are lucky, John. So many awesome people have poured into our life. Don’t forget to give it away to other people. Dr. Peters told me that a person who always took was like a big, fat, juicy grape. They looked good for awhile, but shriveled up into a raisin before long. He said that people who gave it away were like a wine that lasts forever. Give it away.

This is weird preaching to myself. I just don’t want to end up dead while I am still alive. You know what I mean, John? I hope not. I hope you are not dead. I hope I really do find this note someday!

One more thing. No, two more things. Don’t worry about stuff. Mom always tells me to stop worrying. I can’t help it, but I sure want to stop fretting about other things. Have more faith. Believe.

Last thing. Don’t forget, John, what you are good at, and do it with all you have inside you. You know how to encourage people. You know how to help. Live, John. Live! Please, for my sake, live so that others will live, too.

I like who I am even though I am messed up, too. I hope I find this letter. When you find it, read it, and run to tell everyone you know that you really are alive and that you want to be alive. Tell them that you met me and that you know who you are, John. Tell them you are alive. Please. I love you, John.

Tears streaked across his cheeks. His dirty hands only smeared dust and mud across his eyes. He didn’t care. John read the letter three times and began sobbing. At first he was embarrassed at what he had become, but at the core he realized he was actually relieved. He wasn’t a bad man - he was just lost. All of the cares of his world had choked the life out of him. He had forgotten how to live. He had forgotten how to love. The effects of the letter started to take hold immediately. He began to lighten up. He could feel it. He even began to laugh.

Here he was - a muddy, cold mess in a barn with a letter written to himself decades ago. His mind raced back to his first love of God, and then to his family, especially his bride. He then thought back through what he loved to do and all of his friends. He was a likable guy. In fact, people liked to be around him. Everyone, that is, except those closest to him. All of that was about to change, though. As John reread the last paragraph he could hear his son yelling, “Dad, dad. Are you out here? Are you alright, Dad?”

The only thing John could do was run. He held the letter and began to weep with joy as a deep peace permeated his heart and mind. He ran right to his son’s voice. His son had stopped as he saw his filthy dad running full speed at him. All he could hear was his dad’s sobs and his occasional name. He thought something was desperately wrong. The truth, however, was that something was desperately right. His dad was alive, and his 45-year-old body moved like it was alive. John tackled his son with so much love and joy, and began spewing apologies intermingled with phrases of love.

He picked up his boy on his shoulders, still holding the letter in his left hand, and began laughing and crying and yelling to his family, “Forgive me! I love you. Forgive me! I am alive, alive! Forgive me!” John’s entire family ran outside to see what the commotion was. They were dazed at what they were hearing. John piled into them full force. He began chanting, “I’m alive, forgive me! I’m alive, I love you! Please forgive me, I am so sorry. Please know that I love you!” Every member at their own time began to cry, then sob and weep. In the middle of the cold winter day stood the warmest love imaginable. Hugs, tears, joy, forgiveness… Christmas.

The light entered a darkened soul,
Warming it to a fervent glow.
One dead man now fully awake,
Changed the course for his family’s sake.

It would be the best Christmas one could ever imagine. Every family member came alive that day, and for the rest of their lives, Christmas would never be the same. John had gotten his life back thanks to the life that was given to him so many years ago. His life now had perspective, a real Christmas perspective.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good life!

Posted on December 22, 2009 in Personal Growth