The answer takes a little explaining and begins several months ago.
Last Christmas Eve, in the early morning as I stood in my kitchen already covered in flour and sugar, my grandparents called to wish us a Merry Christmas. This wasn’t unusual. For as long back as I can remember, we always celebrated Christmas with my maternal grandparents on Christmas Eve. According to family lore, my grandpa simply couldn’t wait until Christmas morning to open presents!
Normally prone to long conversations after church and lengthy meal-time meanderings, Christmas Eve was the one occasion he would rush out of church and speed through the family dinner, just to get to the present-opening portion of the evening. Naively growing up, I always assumed opening presents early was just a way to pacify us kids. On the contrary. You could see the sparkle in Pap’s eyes a mile away! The kid in him could not be contained!
So, as we were talking on the phone, I casually mentioned I was in the middle of making Christmas cookies. The smile in his voice was audible. “Gosh, I’d sure like some of your cookies! You know, Gram doesn’t make cookies for me anymore.” “I don’t think they’ll fare very well in the mail, but I’ll make you some the next time we come for a visit,” I said. And just like that, I never gave it a second thought. After all, there’s always next Christmas, right?
Well, here I am. Standing in my kitchen, making Christmas cookies in July. Realizing, with a heavy heart, next Christmas is not a sure thing; acknowledging that tomorrow is not promised. To any of us.
Turns out, my pap is dying. It’s hard for me to even write those words, let alone, say them out loud. He’s been diagnosed with metastatic prostate cancer which has spread to his bones and lungs. He’s not aware of the severity of the diagnosis, but we know time is no longer his friend. And Christmas sure seems a long way away right now.
This is the man who used to pull me onto his lap and tell me stories of “the good ‘ole days.” He took me to church and taught me the hymns; his beautiful baritone voice dominating the small sanctuary. He encouraged my creativity and reveled in my successes. Even after moving several hundred miles away, he was a constant presence; ever-primed to remind me of my roots, reprimand or praise my decisions, and reign me back in when necessary. In some ways, he was my compass rose; I knew I could always go to him and get the unfiltered truth (whether I wanted to hear it or not). Though I don’t agree with all of his views and his comments have occasionally made me bristle, he has invariably been unapologetically authentic. And of that, I must say, I am a bit envious.
Over the past few weeks, illness has taken hold and my Pap has been forced to spend time in and out of the hospital and re-hab. As soon as he was able to take phone calls, I made it my mission to call and talk with him every day. Some days, we talked for a long time. Other days, he just wasn’t up to lengthy conversations. But either way, we both looked forward to that time together. Unable or unwilling to shelter me, he let his emotions and words flow freely; openly sobbing when he spoke of the pain he was in or how much he wanted to be home, delightfully happy when he described his recent visitors, and bluntly complaining when he recalled the day’s meals. He took my calls regardless of who was in his room at the time, or what he was going through. He needed that time, and I grew to need it too. I found myself desperate for him to know how much I loved and cherished him.
At some point in one of these conversations, Christmas cookies came up. Knowing we had a visit planned soon, Pap (not so nonchalantly) mentions, “You’re going to bring me those Christmas cookies you promised, right?” Um…absolutely!
Now, as I pack for tomorrow’s flight and next week’s visit, the juxtaposition of Christmas cookies and flip flops in my luggage is a further reminder of life’s complexity and the lengths to which we will go to show our love to one another. These cookies are made with the simplest of ingredients, but when baked with love, they transcend their humble beginnings and become magical morsels of adulation, endearment, and honor. Yes, a cookie can do all that, and then some!
Home baked cookies have long been many a mom’s go-to response to boo-boo’s, break-ups, heartaches, trials, and triumphs. Nothing comforts like a little homemade sunshine. Though healing my Pap would be a tall order for this special Christmas batch, I am betting on their ability to elicit, however briefly, that signature eye sparkle and boyish grin.
And in that moment, my heart will be full. Sharing Christmas cookies on a hot July afternoon; laughing, reminiscing, reinforcing a bond that will surpass distance and dimension, just a girl and her Pap. I will humbly relish in the wisdom that he is saved and will soon be wearing the crowns he earned through the gift of grace as he enters his eternal home.
This is life. The journey we take, however short or long, rough or smooth, challenging or effortless, is never a solitary one. We meet folks along the way; some stay for only a moment, while others walk with us for quite a while. And a chosen few go on ahead and leave crumbs for us to follow. Christmas cookie crumbs.