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Monday December 22, 2003 Volume V Number 51
Let It Snow
by Ken Kemp
'm into the tradition now. Every year, the Friday before Christmas day, our community club celebrates with a festive breakfast, the room decorated with a tree and wreath, lights and red bows, checkered table cloths and center-pieces, and our spouses are invited.
It’s an early morning social gathering, and this year, attendance more than doubled. Not only did a good number of members show up, along with their significant other, but a crowd of high school students as well. They were rather formal in their attire, black satin dresses for the ladies and matching black satin shirts and ties, black slacks for the young gentlemen and polished black shoes for them all. They would be our entertainment for the morning.
There are lots of excuses to miss the party (what with all the expectations and multiple entries on the get-it-done list you are carrying around), but if you will get yourself there, you’ll find that celebrations this time of year are particularly joyous. The daylight is short. I try to get home after my workday to give Barney a little exercise, but generally it’s completely dark by the time I arrive these days. Long chilly nights are the rule. The forced air heater is back in business, an occasional fire crackles in the fireplace. There is something about those twinkling lights and bright colors and the scent of pine in the living room that is particularly timely. Top it off with hot cider on the stove and candles in the window and stockings on the fireplace and garlands draped over the mirrors and window casings and a wooden soldier, nutcrackers standing at attention here and there, a miniature manger scene and a poinsettia at the entry - little evidences of Christmas around the house - and the gloomy year-end darkness is pierced by the warm glow of anticipation. The dreary dead of winter dispelled by a thousand lights.
So the old gang gathered in the basement meeting hall of the community center like we do every week, but this time different. There is a much larger crowd, and the laughter and conversation over hot coffee and hot chocolate emanating up the stairway up to the entryway more energetic, upping the decibel level by the light of the tree and the smell of breakfast cooking and the women in bright red and green and one guy donning a Santa cap. The high school students seemed to be in unusually high spirits. Turns out that early morning is pretty much routine for this crowd, and after all, it’s the last day of school for calendar year 2003. Freedom will come at about two thirty this afternoon.
I stand in line for the breakfast buffet with Carolyn just behind their director, Mrs. Beck. She’s high energy, stands maybe two or three inches above the five foot level, and already, she’s demonstrated her ready command of these teenagers. This is a new generation. We are all moms and dads, and we know the challenge of youngsters on the brink of adulthood. We’ve all pretty well given up on the idea that command is even a possibility with teenagers – so to be in the presence of one who is capable of influence, much less command; one who can get a response out of such a crowd, a positive, cheerful, willing response, well, let’s just say that it’s inspiring.
So I greet Mrs. Beck and simply say, “Thank you.”
“Well, you’re welcome… but we haven’t really done anything yet,” Mrs. Beck says with a charming smile, sharp and quick witted for this early.
“You got ‘em here at seven o’clock in the morning. I consider that alone to be quite an accomplishment,” I replied, smiling back.
“I guess you’re right,” laughed Mrs. Beck and Carolyn, too.
I’ve often wondered how it is that our little breakfast club attracts such attention over here on Friday mornings. I think it has something to do with the fact that the Principal of the High School is one of our members.
After breakfast, and after the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag, one of our members (another educator, an Elementary School principal) took to the electronic keyboard and Mrs. Beck invited us all to take the bright green sheets on the table for some old fashioned caroling. We started with “Let it Snow.” As a former Mid-Westerner, with memories of real snow storms - the icy winds, the drifting and the slippery roads - still fresh in my mind, I’ve always wondered if my fellow Californians have any real comprehension of “Oh, the weather outside is frightful...” I do.
But no matter, in our little basement, packed with an unusually large crowd, Mrs. Beck starts it off with a strong soprano voice and a hand in the air giving direction to the keyboard and the voices, and the singing starts filling the room with joyful sound, and to my wondering ears – harmony.
It’s not just the old members of my club. It’s the teenagers. They are singing.
No reticence. No self-conscious retreat, no head down, no avoiding eye contact. No looking around the room to see if someone might notice and scoff or mock or snicker or scorn. None of that. Heads held high, these kids are cutting loose. In harmony. As though it’s a routine rehearsal. Making music. Full sound. Beautiful music.
It’s the adults who are taking a cue. And all of us join in, a few adding harmonies of our own. And Mrs. Beck proceeds with a smile and animated guidance, getting from us just what she expects.
And I get to thinking about how blessed I am to live in this little country town that somehow time forgot.
* * * * * *
Pam was raised by a woman who took people in. She was the energetic type – always on the look-out for someone who might be hurting because of some sort of tragedy or loss. And then she took it on as a personal mission to bring some measure of relief or happiness to what would otherwise be a gloomy day.
Pam now has three girls of her own, and already, she’s passed along her mother’s giving heart. When she encountered a family who lost everything in the fire, now living in temporary quarters (the Super 8 Motel), Pam knew the Mom and Dad and five children (five through seventeen years of age) would be facing a challenging Christmas. Perhaps no Christmas at all.
So she set out to invite the community to help.
She did some homework. What was lost? What needed replacing? What do the children want for Christmas? She made up a comprehensive list.
At a women’s event the following night, paper ornaments on the tree identified the items from the list. Each woman was invited to take an ornament home, share the need with their family, do some shopping, wrap the gift, and bring it back to church with the ornament as a tag and place it under the tree in the sanctuary on Sunday morning.
By week’s end, extraordinary things happened. I had my doubts when I saw “drum set” on the list. It’s a musical family and the drums were not nearly as surprising as the wish for an “accordion.” A real one. (Yep – people still play them – theirs was lost to the flames.)
Tonight the family will gather around the Christmas tree in the church Sanctuary. All morning long people paraded down the aisle bearing wrapped gifts. There are dolls and clothing and games and stuffed animals – and there is a drum set. And an accordion.
But perhaps most surprising of all sat out in the parking lot. During their escape, the entire Thomas family barely loaded up one car in time, and left their second car behind. Mom frantically searched for the keys as the fire approached and the first car pulled out of the driveway. Dad got a couple hundred yards down the road with the kids. Nervously watching his rear view mirror, he did not see the second car pull out… and a few terrifying seconds later, Mom came ‘round the corner frantically running to catch them. It was too late. The second car caught fire, along with their home.
But all seven of them. Safe.
They drove away, leaving all they had, save the few things they packed into the first car, behind.
Now, Christmas is coming.
Tonight, after the youth group feasts on a Christmas buffet dinner with the Thomas mom and dad and children, they will go upstairs into the sanctuary and show them the lit tree and all the presents piled high around it. There will be hugs and squeals and smiles, and then the suggestion that the wrapped gifts go home with them for opening on Christmas Eve, or Christmas morning – their choice.
Remember – all the gifts come in Jesus’ name, they’ll be told. He is the best gift of all. He taught the givers how to give.
The anticipation the next few days will be intense for the Thomas children.
And that’s not all. As they walk outside, Pam will surprise the family one more time, and hand Mr. Thomas the keys to a fine family van, red, donated by another generous family, as a replacement for their lost vehicle.
And they’ll load the presents, the drums and the accordion, inside.
Pam - a nurse, a mom, a counselor, a youth sponsor, a tireless giver - her husband Allan, her three daughters, along with the youth group, all of them will be teary-eyed and hugging as they send the Thomas family home in their new red van – because it is even more blessed to give than to receive.
Merry Christmas.
* * * * * * *
Mrs. Beck told our group, between the concert numbers presented that morning by her Madrigal Group, about performing with the choir at an elementary school in town a few weeks prior. She was particularly charmed by the kindergarteners, and two of them who asked questions.
“Mrs. Beck,” one of them asked, “are you a real teacher or are you just a singing teacher?” She wanted to know.
“Well,” Mrs. Beck smiled, “I’m just a singing teacher.”
“I thought so,” said the little girl.
And then another raised his hand. He had a question, too.
“Are you a witch?” he asked, point blank.
“A witch?” Mrs. Beck, generally unflappable, was taken back by this one. “What makes you think I might be a witch?”
“Uh…” the boy turned thoughtful. “Because you wave your arms around like you are casting a magic spell,” he explained.
Mrs. Beck broke out in laughter, along with everyone else who heard the exchange.
Thinking on her feet, “No, I am not a witch,” she said casually, “but I can understand how you might think so.” And then she told us that she thought this boy just might be spending a little too much time with Harry Potter.
But I thought about it for a little while.
Mrs. Beck is hardly a witch. But she has imparted a most wonderful gift to these high school students. By her enthusiasms, be her example, by her belief, she has introduced each of them to their own capacity for music. She’s given them a voice. Under her spell, they are coming of age.
How sad it is that so many go through life unaware, unwilling to sing life’s songs. No one cherished their voice. It remains locked up inside. Unused.
When Mrs. Beck directs this choir and their harmonies mesh and their timing synchronizes and the pitch is pure and the dynamics ring true to the lyric and the melody, she really is casting a kind of magical spell that will live with them for a lifetime.
And by casting this spell on her students, she did the same for us. We sang, too. And the music drew us back to a time that might otherwise be forgotten, and beckons us again.
And reminds us.
Let it snow.
* * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
Christmas is nearly here.
Let Mrs. Beck cast her spell. Listen to the music. Let it speak to you. Sing along – in full voice.
Remember the Thomas’s. Not simply their good fortune post-tragedy, but remember what the giving did. For Pam. For our young people. For generous donors. For a host of families who brought wrapped presents to church and placed them under the tree.
Match your gifts to the needs of the people you love. Treasure each them with your words. Hold them close.
You are a gift.
Give yourself away.
Posted in Valley Center, California
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2003