It was in a hospital, on a particularly chilly December evening.
"How?!" You say, "How can the best Christmas you have ever had be in a hospital?"
My question to you, is how can it not be? Now I know that Hospitals, by their nature, are austere, cold, and have a smell of antiseptic. However, it is not the building that makes a Christmas, it is the people. And hospitals house some of the most grateful and caring people, as well as those who are the most in need of the Christmas spirit. The spirit of giving and comfort, and most importantly Love.
After exiting the elevator and walking down the hall, shoes damp from snow squeaking on the blue and white tile, I could hear laughter from room 667. The nurses smiled and waved at me as I walked past, I knew each of their names, they had become close friends, extended family members. Jennifer with her Mickey Mouse Santa hat, and Travis with his scrubs so bright that you had to often wear sunglasses to look at him wished me a Merry Christmas as I walked past with my sisters, arms laden with carefully wrapped presents. A high pitched giggle rang down the hall as my squealing niece came bolting out of the room and wrapped her arms around our legs, hiding from her cousins as they chased her in a raucous game of tag.
The room was stuffed with people and chatter, and smiles wreathed the room, the best kind of Christmas decoration. And on the far side of the room, tubes and wires running from frail wrists to the beeping monitor in the corner was my father. The strongest man I have ever known, even in that moment when his body had been through so much. I could see the happiness in his eyes as he looked around at all of us, his children, grandchildren and wife gathered together and celebrating not only Christmas but the love of our family and the feeling of being so completely blessed that he was still with us. It had been a long journey filled with ICU visits and a ravaging illness, but we were still there and still together. Brought even closer together, each of us giving of ourselves in a time when it was most needed.
Christmas music played from a stereo brought in by my sister, the kids dancing and spinning, laughing when they fell from dizziness; card games and family trivia going on in the other corner of that tiny room that we had resided in for 4 months. Later that night, food consumed and little bodies collapsed from exhaustion, we listened to the Christmas carolers that had come to bring a little bit of Christmas to those who needed it. My dad listened intently, humming the melody and trying to sing along, his voice cracking and tears gathering in his eyes. I never asked him what he was feeling, but I can only imagine that he was feeling, even more strongly, what I was feeling. Overwhelming gratitude that we could celebrate together and feel the true spirit of Christmas.
Many people, most people, have lost that meaning but in that room we found it. It is Love. THAT is what Christmas is all about, that is what I was reminded of sitting there with my family, all of us having put aside our own needs and schedules to spend time together, supporting each other. I was reminded of the never ending love of our Heavenly Father, the blessing that he gave us in sending us His son, and most importantly the blessing of my family being whole despite the trials we had been through. I will never forget that night, and what I felt there in that Hospital.
"How can your best Christmas have been spent in a Hospital?" You ask.
I only have one answer for you; "Love."
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