An Emma Christmas

An “Emma “Christmas


That Christmas Eve, Emma was supposed to be picked up by Linda Meredith Carter at Pavlic’s Florist to be driven to the Greyhound station so she could go home for Christmas. The weather was damp, foggy and cold, and I talked her into staying with us. “Can’t you go just as well for New Year’s?” “I s'pose so," she said, looking at the bad weather outside. We invited her to church, to see the Pageant, and to eat with the family at my sister’s house, but she didn’t want to go. I said, well, you can sit and wait for us, enjoy the Christmas tree, have some eggnog, look at the Nativity, and we will bring back some Christmas dinner. She liked the idea.

When we returned at 10 p. m. she was sleeping upright on the sofa in the dark, but for the soft glow of Christmas tree lights. I gently woke her up. In her hand she held the baby Jesus from the Nativity set to her heart. I helped her to her room and replaced the infant King in the manger with a silent prayer. For some reason, I was a bit ashamed. Emma had grasped the meaning of Christmas, and Christ Himself, far more than we had. The next morning, she enjoyed watching us open presents, opened some for herself, and we all had Christmas Dinner, herself in the kitchen again. Then she went back to her room for a long winter’s nap.
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