Dealing With The Severe Injury of A Loved One, My Experience

On March 31, 2000 a car hit my daughter, who was four at the time. My other two children, ages 7 and 5, and I witnessed it. It was the worst feeling that I have ever experienced in my life. I felt helpless, scared, and like I had no control. As the car passed, I ran over and picked up her limp body, covered with blood, and carried her out of the roadway. I screamed for anyone and everyone to call 911. After what seemed to be an eternity, the police finally arrived, followed by an ambulance a while later. The EMT advised me that she was so bad, that she needed to be flown to the nearest trauma hospital. I knew in my heart that she was bad off, yet I did not want to accept it. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I followed the ambulance to the local hospital, where they prepared her for the flight.

My husband, whom someone had called, met me at the hospital, and we drove to the trauma hospital, as Courtney was transported by helicopter. She arrived there awhile before we did, and they had been able to access her condition. She was critical. The admitting doctor came out and talked to us. She told us that Courtney had been put on life support. I collapsed with horror, but she advised me that she was breathing on her own and that the life support system was only for keeping her body at rest and conserving energy, while the rest of her healed. We sat there very nervously, waiting for the neurologist to come and talk to us then. To our surprise, they had sent the hospital clergyman to see us first. This was a nightmare. I felt in my heart that my daughter was going to die. Why else would they send a religious figure to comfort us? He explained that it was a hospital policy for the clergyman to visit the family of anyone of such a severe injury, not that it made me feel any better. After another eternity, the neurologist finally came out to consult with us. He explained that she had received a closed head trauma, and that she had experienced much swelling of the brain. If the swelling did not go down, or if she incurred anymore swelling, she would not live due to the skull not being able to do anything with all of the fluid that the injury was producing. The pressure would be too much trauma on the brain. The next 72 hours were to be critical.

We waited, slept in the PICU lounge, and prayed during that time. We were allowed to go and see her during the scheduled visiting periods. The first time that I was allowed to see her, she looked like a corpse. She was pale, and stiff looking, and gave the absolute appearance of being lifeless. They had put her on morphine for pain, and to help her rest to heal, and also she was in a semi-coma. The 72 hours finally passed, which gave us hope. She had made it through the critical period. A few days later, the physicians attempted to remove her from the life support system, but she had lost so much potassium, that when they started to remove it, she had a seizure. They left her on it, and started an IV of potassium. The cause of this was the pituitary gland, which regulates the body's potassium, had been damaged. About a week later, that was under control, and she could be finally removed from the breathing system. They had weaned her off of the morphine during that period, and she was finally coming too and waking up. She was paralyzed on her left side, unable to speak, and had absolutely no control of her body. She spent a few more days in that hospital, and then she was transferred to a rehabilitation center, at another nearby hospital, where she would stay for another 2 months.

At the rehabilitation center, she met with a group of therapist, who worked with her everyday. Within one month of her stay there, she had regained speech. She was still confined to her tiny wheelchair, and had no body control. The therapist kept working with her and within another month, she had regained her ability to walk, and control her body. She was eating whole food again. Everything seemed to be returning to normal, yet we still had a hurl to cross. 

Her personality had changed tremendously. She was violent, using foul language, and was absolutely wild. I think that this was the hardest thing in this whole ordeal to understand. Why was my baby acting like this? The staff at the hospital explained it as everyone who suffers a head trauma goes through this. It is a period of adjustment. The victim is trying to adjust to not being able to do the things that they once could. They are trying to understand what has happened to them. They even had a scale of the stages of this condition. They had noted the several stages and about how long each stage would last. Fortunately, hers did not last very long. That was what was keeping her at the hospital for so long. The doctor felt that my daughter did not have good enough judgment to be released yet. She was still sensitive to stimulation, and anything could set her off. If she was out in public, and there was a crowd, a lot of noise, or any stimulants, she would just go wild. Finally, she reached a point to where the doctor felt that it was safe for her to leave. When we got her home, things were still a little rough, but we made it through it.

She still showed bouts of rage. To this day, she can still make you think that she is the devil if she gets very upset. She is still weak on her left side and she does not do well on her schoolwork, but she is doing wonderful. She plays with other children, and does about anything that they are able to do. I am so glad that she lived. I have become so close to her. At her kindergarten graduation, I just sat there and cried, thinking of how I might not have been able to go to see her graduate. I could have had her taken away from me. Fortunately, I didn't. 

The severe injury of a loved one, especially of any kind of brain damage, takes its toll on any family. It is mentally and physically exhausting. You think that no one else in the world knows what you are going through. It is a terrible experience, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Fortunately, we had lots of family, friends, and co-workers to support us and help us make it through. We couldn't have done it without them, but I owe the most gratitude to God. He kept her safe and with all of the prayers that were offered to Him, He pulled her through. He gave everyone who cared about Courtney the sanity and the courage to carry on, and the strength to take each day one day at a time through the terrible ordeal.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Kimberly is 33 years old, and lives in Tennessee in the United States. She has been married for ten years and has three beautiful children.

The Spirit Of The Seventh Sea

   In the days when men adhered strictly to the rules and custom that guided society, there lived a man who was filled with the urge to make a difference. Agbawo believed that he knew more about life than any other man in the society and he went on to raise his family in the manner he thought fit regardless of what societal norms suggested. He encouraged his wife to do things that only men were allowed to do, and encouraged his only son to engage in senior jokes and games even before he was anything close to the required age.

Very soon, his wife was sniffing traditional grinded-tobacco (powdered tobacco), an exclusive pleasure of the men shared only with elderly women who needed to take the herbal powder for medicinal and analgesic purposes such as toothache relief, and extinction of bacteria from the cavities in the head, and a clearer eyesight. His son joined the elders to cross the dreaded seventh sea during major market days. Other members of the society did not appreciate Agbawo's dereliction from stated customs, yet none could say it to his face because he was a very wealthy and powerful man.

One day, when Agbawo was on a trip to a foreign land, his wife took their son with her on her way to a major market across the seventh sea. Other elders in the boat complained that bringing a child along with the merchants on a boat across the seventh sea could mean a bad omen, and may bring some mishap upon the merchant/voyagers. They therefore requested Agbawo's wife to leave the child behind but she refused and rather threatened the complainants' with Agbawo's name and wealth. 

By the time the merchants' boat got to the heart of the sea, Agbawo's wife had already expended her bottle of tobacco. Being an addict, she was in dire need of some tobacco to sniff. Because of the way she treated the other merchant voyagers at the beginning of the trip, none of them agreed to offer Agbawo's wife their tobacco-bottle or a pinch of grounded tobacco to quell her urges. The boat was now midway into the sea and would not turn back, while it was still a long way before they would touch the shore on the other land. 

While other merchants were resting, Agbawo's wife went to an isolated part of the big boat to strike a deal with the spirit of the seventh sea. She could not control her urge any longer. "Dear spirit of the seventh sea," she said. "Please give me a bottle of tobacco and I will give you my child," Agbawo's wife pleaded. The spirit of the seventh sea quickly agreed to the deal. A life for a bottle of tobacco is definitely a good deal, the spirit thought. Agbawo's wife then tossed her sleeping child overboard. "I am a woman, and I can always have another child rather than miss this tobacco," she said to herself.

The spirit of the seventh sea kept its promise and tossed a bottle of tobacco at Agbawo's wife. Quickly, she opened the bottle and sniffed from the supply. "Since I was born, I have never had such sweet tobacco," she said. "If you give me another child, you will get an even better quality," the spirit suggested. "This will do for now," Agbawo's wife replied as she continued to sniff and relish in the wonderful tobacco. 

After she finished enjoying her tobacco, she raised an alarm that her child had drowned by himself. It is said that bitterness does not extend to issues of death. Therefore, the other merchants decided to put their grudges aside and then set up a search party for the dead child. After the spirit had used what it wanted, it gave up the corpse of the child, and the merchants then collected the child's corpse and took it home to Agbawo.

Despite several inquiries by Agbawo as to what happened, his wife kept denying the fact that she had anything to do with the death of their only son. "If I know anything about what killed our child, may the spirits take me," she swore in her attempt to convince Agbawo that she was innocent. After the burial ceremony, Agbawo managed to leave to complete some business he had suspended when he learnt of his son's death. "I will be back this night," Agbawo assured his wife who appeared very touched and disheveled by the loss of their son.

Later that night, the messenger of the spirits came knocking on the door of Agbawo's house. "I will be right there," Agbawo's wife responded as she stepped to the door to answer the door thinking that her husband had returned. She had failed to realize that she signed a long lasting pact with the spirit of the seventh sea when she threw her child overboard and enjoyed the tobacco provided by the spirit at sea. The same spirit had listened to her when she swore to her husband that the spirits should take her if she knew what killed their son. Since the spirit knew that Agbawo's wife knew what happened to their child, it took her for her words and therefore sent its messenger of death to come and bring Agbawo's wife as she had requested when she swore to her husband. 

When Agbawo returned home much later that night, the house was empty. Feeling tired, he slept off as soon as he stepped into the house, thinking that his wife was probably sleeping in their bedroom. The next morning, Agbawo was woken by cries of neighbors who have cited the corpse of his wife at the front door. The messenger of the spirit of the seventh sea had returned the corpse of Agbawo's wife after it had taken what it needed - her life. 

Suddenly, the 'wise' Agbawo had lost his wife and only child all within a day. He was crushed, bitter, and melancholy to say the least. As the crowd gathered, he sat down at the foot of his doorstep to ponder about his world and his life. How did it come to this? 

©Oliver O. Mbamara, 2003

A Gift All Wrapped in Swaddling Clothes

Christmas morning of my fifth year I woke to find a wooden rifle under the tree, carefully carved by my dad, complete with a dowel barrel and a hole for my trigger finger. I can almost smell the fresh paint mingled with the fragrance of pine branches. And though I don't recall playing with it, I remember the awe I felt in knowing my dad made it just for me.

Not all gifts, however, are so personally intended. After that horrendous brown vase I got at a Christmas party, at least I had the perverse joy of watching someone open "How to Raise Rhesus Monkeys" that had been foisted off on me the year before. Then there's a punch-out calendar to sit on my desk reminding me all year long to buy Farmer's Insurance. And the mortuary that gives away bottles of hand lotion every year--my family always calls it "embalming fluid."

What takes the joy out of giving are the obligatory gifts--the expected office exchange, the box of candy you keep by the door to hand the Smiths when they come to call as you know they will, once a year. And don't forget the gift for great Aunt Hattie whom you haven't liked since she pinched your cheeks when you were little.

Really difficult are the gifts that come with long invisible strings dangling from them, gifts so very expensive that you could never afford to reciprocate. Gold and diamond jewelry from a suitor. You don't want to hurt his feelings, but ....

I wonder how Mary and Joseph felt as they watched richly robed wise men kneel before their child offering alabaster jars of precious myrrh, inlaid boxes heavy with the scent of frankincense, and iron-bound chests laden with gold--gifts fit for a king. How could they possibly repay?

I guess the most troublesome gift at Christmas is the Child Himself. What do we say? We smile nicely and pat the humbly- wrapped present. "How nice of you, God, to have been so thoughtful," we mumble politely. But the Gift lies on the dresser unopened year after year. Perhaps because we don't expect to find much inside except a useless religious trinket. Perhaps because we don't feel any need for God just now. Perhaps because we know that if we unwrap the Gift we'll be obligated to the Giver beyond what we can ever repay. And so it sits ... and so it sits until in loneliness, in pain, in utter desperation we tug at the ribbons and tear off the wrappings, hoping against hope we'll find inside what we've longed for. And so it is. Unconditional Love!

God sent a gift
one Christmas morn,
a wondrous gift,
a precious gift.

God sent a gift
one Christmas morn
by peasant maid
and craftsman hand.

God sent a gift
one Christmas morn
and wrapped it up
in swaddling clothes,
For me, He did.
Yes, for me He did.

God sent a gift
one Christmas morn
and wrapped it up
in swaddling clothes.

For me.

Merry Christmas!

Christmas Travelers

Christmas recalls the story of travelers propelled by the unhurried rhythm of their animals:

We three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar,
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.

Why did these wisemen undertake such a journey?

A tall astronomer, advisor to the Persian king, springs from his midnight vigil in the palace courtyard. "Casper, come! Look along the rod I've sighted toward the constellation of the Jews." Casper peers into the blackness. "Do you see it? That brilliant star is new tonight! It must signify the birth of a mighty king."

A soft whistle escapes him as he spots it. "There it is!" He's talking rapidly now. "I've read ancient Hebrew scriptures which tell of this ruler's star."[1] Rising, he announces, "We must see him. We must go!"

Traversing the caravan routes of Persia, Babylon, and Syria for 1,200 miles, they ford broad rivers, pass ancient cities, cross barren deserts. Three months they trek westward, day after day, "following yonder star."

In Jerusalem they inquire, "Where is he that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen his star in the East, and are come to worship him."[2] Worship? So the Babe is more than a king!

Now they follow the shining star till it rests over a simple Bethlehem home. At early dawn neighbors gather to watch the richly- robed travelers dismount. Joseph meets them at the door.

"We've come to see the child, the King." The wise men fall before the Babe, faces to the floor, royal counselors doing homage, worshipping the Christ child. Outside, their servants unload weighty chests from the camels and set gifts before the King. Heavy fragrances of frankincense and myrrh mingle to fill the room as one by one the boxes are opened.

A touch of the boy-child's tiny fingers, a final longing look, and the men rise to go. Camel bells soon fade in the brisk morning air.

We, too, travel at Christmas, visiting family and friends. Yet, like the wisemen, the most important journey we make these hectic holidays is to draw nigh Jesus himself with the gift of our hearts.

 

Christmas Hardships

"Do you really expect me to go to Bethlehem?" Joseph banged down his chisel on the scarred bench.

Ephraim, his cousin, had just entered the low workshop. "You don't have a choice, Joseph. If you don't go the Romans will confiscate your house and your precious tools. Just try to carve a yoke with your fingernails."

"What are we, cowards?" the carpenter retorted. "Mark my words, Ephraim, this 'Enroll-in-your-ancestral-city' business is nothing more than a way to squeeze more taxes out of us. If we give into those foreign tyrants now they'll just be back for more money."

"What's more," Joseph continued, "you're crazy if you think I'd take Mary on a trip this month. She'd probably have the baby on the way!"

"Couldn't you just leave her with your mother for a couple of weeks? She'd be all right. Nobody says the women have to go. It's the heads of households who have to register."

"Register, hah! Be taxed, you mean."

"So why not leave her at home?"

Joseph brushed the woodchips aside and motioned for his cousin to sit down. The carpenter spoke in a low but earnest voice. "Mary's aunt has made life miserable for her ever since she found out Mary was pregnant. Some people were willing to let it go. Not Tabitha."

"She got my wife all stirred up about it," Ephraim volunteered.

"Not just your wife. Most of the women in this town go out of their way to avoid her. At the village well they whisper, "Little slut!" just loud enough for her to hear. Many's the day she's come running home in tears."

"People sure can be cruel," Ephraim said. "At least you and Mary went ahead and got married."

Joseph bit his lip, but didn't say more.

Ephraim got up. "Well, you are going to Bethlehem, aren't you? You'd be a fool to get the Romans on your back. You know what they did to old Ben."

Joseph stood up slowly. "Yes, I'll go. But Mary'll have to come along. There's no way I'd leave her in Nazareth by herself!"

However, when Joseph talked to Mary about it, she didn't seem nearly as sure as her husband. "How could I walk all that way?" she said. "I waddle now. I just can't make it."

"Mary, we'll bring old Jake. You can ride him when you get tired."

"Have you ever ridden on Jake?"

"Well, no."

"That animal is the most bony, jolting mule in Nazareth. I'd rather walk!"

She did ride, though ... some of the way. Joseph would finally stop for the day when Mary just couldn't take any more. He'd help her down off Jake, then he'd fix a fire while she would unload their heavy blankets and try to find some shelter under a tree or large rock.

Mary would always be the center of attention among the few women traveling that time of year.

"I remember when I was carrying Levi," one would start. "Made my feet swell. I couldn't do anything for months."

"That's nothing," replied another, "my sister got so big everyone thought she was carrying twins. But her time came there was only one baby. Died though."

Joseph glanced over at Mary in the flickering firelight. He could see fear flit across her face. Her hands moved to her swollen belly so she could feel the baby's reassuring kick.

The women didn't notice. The first one went on, "Oh, the pain's so awful! I'm glad I'm too old to have any more babies."

Joseph put his arm around Mary's shoulders and pulled her close. Only one more night on the road before Bethlehem.

They reached the sleepy village of Joseph's ancestors just about dusk the fifth day. Joseph went to the inn and nearby houses trying to find a place to sleep. "God," he whispered as he combed the town, "can't You find us a decent place to have this baby?" Nothing.

All at once he saw Mary's face tighten. She tried to suppress a groan as she fought with the pain. It was a long moment before she relaxed, but he could see worry written all over her.

Joseph went back to the innkeeper again. "Are you sure there isn't any room? My wife's about to have a baby. We've got to find a place out of this wind tonight!"

The innkeeper thought a while. "Did you try the house at the end of the street? They sometimes take people in."

"I tried an hour ago."

"Any relatives in town? Any second cousins?"

"No."

Mary was shivering now, in obvious discomfort. "Joseph," she said weakly, "I've got to lie down somewhere."

"Well, there's the stable in the back," offered the innkeeper at long last. "Of course, it's full of animals from all the visitors in town for that blasted Roman census. But if you can find a place in the corner, I guess that'd be okay." He paused. "Just don't keep the animals awake all night."

It was the other way around. The dozen donkeys in the strange barn never stopped moving. And the smell was overpowering to Mary who had been fighting nausea as her pains got stronger.

In the wee hours of the morning Joseph knocked on the innkeeper's door again.

"What do you want this time of night?" the innkeeper snarled when he finally came to the door.

"Is there a midwife in town?"

"Oh, it's you. A midwife? Yes, old Martha lives in a little house about three blocks from here. You go down the main road, turn left at the two-story house, and go to the alley. You can't miss it. You go down the alley and across the pasture. She lives in a shack just behind the third house after that."

"I ... I really don't think I should leave my wife. Her pains are coming awfully fast now.... Could you go?"

"Jonathan!" the innkeeper yelled into his darkened house. "Get up and fetch old Martha. A lady's having a baby in the barn. Hurry!"

He turned to Joseph as he closed the door. "Have some pity, man. My whole family's awake now."

Pretty soon the door opened again and a young lad ran off in the chilly air. After a while he returned, walking slowly so he wouldn't outdistance the old midwife whose arthritis certainly didn't to take to cold winter nights. The boy was shivering by the time he got to the stable.

"Here's Martha, sir," he muttered quickly, and darted back into the warmth of his house.

The old lady put them at ease right away. She had Joseph fetch water and cloths from the innkeeper. It must have been nearly two in the morning by the time the baby came, and another hour before Joseph dug into his robe for a few coins to give the old woman as she hobbled away.

Then he returned to his wife and took her hand as they looked into the puffy face of their son. Alone at last.

"I'm so tired, Joseph," Mary said, settling back into the blanket-covered straw.

The baby finally stopped crying and drifted off to sleep.

Joseph stirred a few minutes later as some men peered from the darkness into the lamp-lit stable. He nudged Mary awake and reached for his staff.

"What do you want?" Joseph said to the men in a forced whisper. "Don't wake the baby."

"We're shepherds," one called out. The baby started crying.

"We saw angels out on the hills an hour ago." The entire story tumbled out as the shepherds edged into the stable to see the baby. Joseph relaxed his grip on the staff.

The shepherd continued, "And the angel told us, 'To you is born this day in the City of David a Savior which is Messiah the Lord.' The angel even told us about the swaddling cloths and the manger here."

"The angel told you about the manger, too?" Joseph interrupted.

"Oh, yes. That's how we knew where to look."

Joseph glanced over at Mary. Her eyes met his. He squeezed her hand.

"This baby is the Messiah, isn't he?" Joseph said quietly. "After all these hassles I had started to question. But..." He paused. "It's almost like God planned the whole thing: the trip neither of us wanted to take." He chuckled. "He must have seen you on bony old Jake." Joseph laughed out loud. "Even this smelly old barn and it's manger."

He stood up, still chuckling. "What do you know? In spite of the problems--no, in the midst of the problems--God's been at work all along."

The Story of Silent Night, Stille Nacht

The phrase repeats itself over and over again in his mind:

Silent night, holy night,
Stille nacht, heilige nacht.

Father Joseph Mohr, Parish Priest

It's the first line from a poem this young Austrian priest had written two years before. Now he can't get the phrase out of his mind. "Silent night, holy night."

Tonight is Christmas Eve and St. Nicholas Church in Oberndorf, north of Salzburg, will be chock-full of people. Father Joseph Mohr has a homily in mind, a message for his flock on this sacred night, but he needs a carol, something special to cap off the service.

Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright...

The words won't go away. "I need a tune!" he says out loud, shaking his head. "I wonder if Franz can help me. I hope it's not too late." Franz Gruber is the schoolteacher in the nearby village of Arnsdorf -- a gifted musician, organist at the Arnsdorf church, and occasional substitute organist at St. Nicholas. "Franz will help me!" he says to himself. "He can't resist a musical challenge."

Franz Gruber, Schoolteacher and Organist

Quickly now he slings on his heavy coat, dons a fur cap and gloves, and ventures into the brisk December morning. The snow is crunchy underfoot as he makes his way across the churchyard towards Arnsdorf, just a 20 minute walk. "Silent night, holy night ... silent night, holy night." The rhythm of the words echoes with each step.

Elizabeth opens the door at his knock. "Father Mohr, how nice of you to stop by. Franz will be glad to see you." She takes his coat and ushers him in. Franz is picking something out on his guitar.

"Franz, remember that poem I told you about: 'Silent Night'?" says Mohr. "I know it's too late to ask, but could you help put a tune to it? I want to sing it tonight for Christmas Eve."

Gruber's face lights up. A challenge. A song. He takes the lyrics from the priest and begins to say them over and over, looking for a cadence. Then he hums a line and scratches it down.

Mohr soon tires of the process and begins to play with the children. But within an hour or so, Gruber seems to have a melody and is working out the chords on his guitar. "Father, how does this sound?" he calls and begins to sing the words:

Silent night, holy night,
All is calm all is bright...

He stops to make a correction in the manuscript, and then continues:

...'Round yon virgin, Mother and Child,
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace!
Sleep in heavenly peace!

Father Mohr is ecstatic. On the second verse Gruber's deep voice is joined by Mohr's rich tenor. Elizabeth, baby on her hip, who has been humming along, now joins them on the last verse. The song fills their home with its gentle words and memorable melody.

New Year's Eve at St. Nicholas Church, Oberndorf, 1818

That night, December 24, 1818, the song fills St. Nicholas Church at Midnight Mass. Mohr sings tenor, Gruber bass, and the church choir joins the refrain of each verse, while Mohr accompanies on the guitar. By the time the last notes die away, the worshipers are a-buzz with joy and wonder at the song. On Christmas Day, the song is being hummed and sung in dozens of homes around Oberndorf. "Silent night, holy night."

And in Oberndorf, they would sing their beloved carol again and again each Christmas. The song might have stayed right there had it not been for an organ builder named Karl Mauracher, who came to repair the pipe organ at Arnsdorf in 1819 and made several trips to Oberndorf over the next few years, finally building a new organ for St. Nicholas in 1825.

The Song Finds Its Way to Emperors and Kings -- and to America

Whether Mauracher found the music and lyrics on the organ or they were given to him by Gruber, we don't know. But he carried the song to the Ziller Valley east of Innsbruk, where he shared it with two local families of travelling folk singers, the Rainers and the Strassers, who began to sing it as part of their regular repertoire. The following Christmas of 1819, the Rainer Family Singers sang "Stille Nacht" in the village church of Fügen (Zillertal).

Three years later they sang it for royalty. Emperor Francis I of Austria and his ally Czar Alexander I of Russia were staying in the nearby castle of Count Dönhoff (now Bubenberg Castle). The Rainer Family performed the carol and were invited to Russia for a series of concerts.

In 1834 the Strasser Family Singers sang "Silent Night" for King Frederick William IV of Prussia. He was so taken with what the Strassers called their "Song of Heaven," that he commanded it to be sung by his cathedral choir every Christmas Eve. It spread through Europe and in 1839 the Raniers brought the song to America as the "Tyrolean Folk Song." Since then it has been translated into over 300 languages and dialects.

Various English translations blossomed, but the definitive English version of the song was penned by Rev. John Freeman Young and first published in The Sunday-School Service and Tune Book (1863).

Why Is "Silent Night" So Popular?

Why has "Silent Night" become our most beloved carol? Is it the words -- tender, intimate, gentle? Or the tune -- so peaceful, so memorable, so easy to play or pick out with one hand on the piano?

It is not a joyous, fast-paced carol like Handel's "Joy to the World." Nor theologically-rich like Charles Wesley's "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing." Nor does it have a complex tune like "Angels We Have Heard on High."

Rather, "Silent Night" is quiet and reflective, calling us to meditate on the scene. It is the ambience conveyed by both the gentle words and melody that create from this carol an oasis of peace.

"All is calm, all is bright."

It calls us to dwell on the Madonna and Child --

"'Round yon Virgin, mother and Child,
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace."

You feel as the "shepherds quake at the sight." You can imagine as "heavenly hosts sing Alleluia." And you begin to sing "Alleluia to the King" right along with them.

Rays of backlit brilliance highlight many a religious painting, but here the picture of light is painted in words:

"Glories stream from heaven afar...."

"Son of God, love's pure light,
Radiant beams from Thy holy face...."

Just Who is in this manger? What is the significance of this birth? What is Christmas about -- really? Perhaps most of all, "Silent Night" is beloved because it reminds us in its simple, but exceedingly clear way, the truth behind it all -- the truth that changes everything:

"Christ, the Savior is born!"

Sing it again this Christmas and let its gentle peace wash over you and its bold assertion renew your soul.

"Jesus, Lord, at thy birth!
"Jesus, Lord, at thy birth!"

 

The Virgin Mary, Handmaid of the Lord

Mary sat on the floor in the sunlight which flooded through the window of her parents' house. She was thinking, daydreaming. Young teenagers were allowed that luxury. She'd overheard the old biddies at the well chattering about her as she had gone to get water that morning....

"Did you go to the betrothal celebration yesterday?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. I wept through the whole thing. It was so beautiful."

"It's about time Joseph got himself a wife! A man his age ought to have a flock of children racing in and out of his shop by now."

"But he's so old for her. If he were twenty, maybe, a fourteen-year-old bride would be all right. But thirty?...

"Oh, he'll make her a good husband, mark my words. But I don't know about her. What kind of cook is she?"

Just then they had noticed Mary and the jabbering ceased. She could see them looking at her, though, sizing her up. It's not as if it's the first time they've seen me, Mary thought. I was born in Nazareth.

Bethrothed. Engaged. Mary smiled. Every girl's dream has come true for me. People already look at me as Joseph's wife. How can I stand to wait another whole year for the wedding ceremony? Oh, well, all the other girls wait, too, and they survive. Her thoughts began to picture what the wedding would be like....

Suddenly she heard a commanding voice: "Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you."

She glanced up, and then gasped. A huge man stood over her. Mary instinctively cringed back into the corner. What kind of greeting was that for a peasant girl? What was going on here?

"Do not be afraid, Mary," the man went on, "you have found favor with God."

Favor with God? Who was this man? Mary relaxed a bit. He didn't seem threatening....

The man proceeded. "You will be with child and give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus..."

What? She had just been betrothed a day....

The man didn't pause. "He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will never end."

The ancient throne of the fabled King David? Certainly she was descended from David, as were thousands of others in Israel. But her son? Her son would be the Messiah prophesied of old? She was stunned. She looked around the room. The man made it sound so immediate, so imminent. Who was this man, speaking so boldly the promises to Israel? She looked up. An angel? Could it be? It seemed as if he was waiting for her to respond.

"Ah... how will this be," she stuttered, "since I am a virgin?" He must know she wasn't married yet!

The angel answered, but more slowly now, as if he had delivered his proclamation, and now was taking time to explain it. "Dear child," he began, "the Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God."

Her thoughts raced. So it wasn't going to be Joseph's child after all, but one conceived by God's Holy Spirit. Who would ever believe that? What would Joseph say? Divorce me as soon as I started to show, probably! How could he ever understand? And who would ever consider marrying the mother of a ... She couldn't bring herself to even think that bitter word. She could feel her face starting to flush and her ears burn.

And what would I do with such a child? I'm not some princess in a palace raising a king! Just a poor girl in an obscure mountain town. Doesn't he know how they treat children in this town whose mothers get pregnant before they marry?

But the angel was still speaking. "... Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month."

Elizabeth? She was nearly sixty! Mary hadn't seen her for years. How could it be? But it was! Elizabeth? She must be bubbling over joy right now! Six months pregnant? That would give the women in her town something to talk about!

The angel had stopped now. He was just standing there. Friendly, but with the bearing of a royal messenger awaiting an answer for his lord.

What should she say? Part of her wanted to shout, Oh, yes! The mother of Messiah. How exciting! How grand! What an honor...

But inside she felt a trapped, crawling sensation. What would it mean to become pregnant out of wedlock? Divorce, shame, shunning. A son who would never be really accepted by her neighbors. A boy they call cruel names. And she ... she would never be asked to marry. She'd live out her days alone, in her parents’ home....

Mary weighed the glory and the cost. But finally she knew what she must do. Glory and cost weren't the point at all, she realized. God has chosen me to be His special servant. He wants me to do this special thing for Him. And, even though it costs me everything I hold dear, I will do it! I will say Yes ... for Him!

Mary looked up at the man. And then reached out to the window sill to pull herself up until she was standing her full fourteen-year-old height before the towering angel. Her eyes met his, and she said very quietly. "I am the Lord's servant. May it be to me as you have said."

She thought she could see the great man smile gently for a long moment. Then he turned and was gone. Even as she felt the tears starting to well up within her, Mary stood tall.