A Robin Christmas Gift??

Today is Christmas!! It's been a beautiful week leading up to today, and the actual 25th was no exception. Here is an excerpt from tonight's journal entry:

"I’m trying to give some time to the emotions I was feeling this afternoon. And just process the weekend and all that occurred. Here’s the first thing I have words for: this afternoon was far from our first occasion to open gifts. Days ago, we exchanged with the Oldroyds. Had Caleb’s birthday with the Maces. Received several thoughtful gifts from friends. Today, we opened morning gifts from Santa. And then, this afternoon, we pulled out two LARGE boxes that were generously shipped to us from another DIPG family/charitable organization. The kids opened gift after gift, squealing and bouncing, itching to play, itching to unwrap one more. The quantity and quality of gifts was astounding. My Santa planning has never been so extensive or on-brand- just ask Emily and her 5 new Bluey toys (which she is THRILLED about.)

But the gift that really got me did not come from that big box. I mean, obviously, because those were just for the kids. This gift was for us… me? I need to ask Mom Mace for the details. What she did tell us was that some woman associated with some organization wanted to invite us to some event (we weren’t in Utah yet), but had given us a gift instead. I opened it. It was a Willow Tree box- those graceful, thoughtful statues that are so popular in my home state. This one was titled “Nurture”, and I guessed what it might show. A mother and a baby? A manger child at rest? Two children holding hands? I split the tape and cracked the lid.

I found a smallish figure- still a girl, not fully grown. Her ponytail was light and short, atop a bending head. She’s looking down into her hands, so lightly, gently cupped. Inside them? Is a little bird.

A little grayish bird.

I stopped to catch my breath. With all the presents, children, eyes, it wasn’t time to pause and think. I held it for a while then slowly placed it in its box. But still my heart was racing… Had that woman read my blog? Could they have known my moment with our backyard robin nest? Significance and symbols draped it like a starchy web, and I could feel some extra eyes from heaven witnessing. What DOES the statue mean??

I hesitate to think about it, even here and now. There's power pulsing just beyond the feelings from today. And feelings have their power too... a force that often burns. Addressing them controls the fire, though, right? (Or so I'm told.) This afternoon I ached for ways to nurture my small kids. I hemmed up Caleb's pants, and that felt nice. But still I ached. This Christmas, Hyrum's here. I didn't know if he would be. Relief, deeply resounding, shakes me to my very bones. And equally, the tolling bells of time sound dark and grim. This Christmas feels significant like none I've had before.

This morning as I cleaned up gifts, the thought swept through my mind, "Most Christmases, the drama is the gifts we give or make. This year, I haven't felt that for myself." No sadness there- just feeling other dramas. I didn't think a gift could touch that realm, until that bird.

A baby bird, perhaps? I can't decide. Let's say it is. The promise of that statue is the fallen one restored. That baby, lost, is here again, to cradle in my arms. It's living, growing, home at last and always, as it's carved. The metaphor is larger than the statue's tiny frame- it lights me with a hope for what I know someday will be.

Or... does she hold a mother bird? Let's say I call it that. Then she and I, two mothers, join forever in that clay. The fact that I might hold her... I might keep her in my hands... It floods me with the knowledge of our deep and painful loss. It lifts me through the company of someone else who knows. When I first wrote about that mother bird, she was to me the symbol of the one that overcomes. Each day, she flew back to her nest acknowledging her loss. Just three, not four, small mouths to feed, each time she came back home. She flew. She fed. She bore the grief. Then after they had grown? She rose above her sorrow and embraced the open sky. I'd hold to that forever, taking notes on how to fly.

That statue was a sign from God that I was seen this year. It is not compensation, as no Christmas gift could be. But God... He knows. I'm not alone. He reaches out to me. He sees my pain. He cradles it. He promises relief. The rest I feel when in His hands is gift enough for me."