The beginning of December 2007 was a whirlwind of campaign activity. After wrapping up the Virginia ballot access petition process for Romney, I flew out to NH to drive the Mitt Mobile from Manchester to Des Moines, IA since it and I both needed to report for further duty there in the land of corn and football. I had spent a month earlier in Iowa and looked forward to seeing the team there again. At this point the uncertainty of where my suitcase and I would be for the next several months as the primary battle wore on was an exciting novelty.
The novelty wore thin when I realized that the short time we had off for Christmas (36 hours, since it was a week before the Iowa Caucus) was insufficient to travel to VA to spend the day with my family. I realize most of my readers and the adult world have had Christmases away from their family and the amount of sympathy I may stir is small, but this would be my first.
I was busy enough (understatement) that dwelling on this fact wasn't possible for the first two weeks. After that, though, it was inevitable. As the days wore on and the 25th drew closer, I found myself pitying "poor little me" whenever my mind had time to do so. I thought of my mom's regular line up of homemade cookies and watching old home videos of Christmases past with the whole family. I thought of John Ansted's bread and the faces of my Laurels. All things that I would miss. I hated telling my friends from high school and college who emailed for my mailing address that I wouldn't get their cards this year. But, most of all, I just felt bad for myself for being alone on Christmas.
I let this pity (see also despair, wallowing depression, etc.) sink in good for a few days. I had a few offers to spend Christmas Day with assorted angelic campaign staffers. I always kept my commitment open, half believing there was still a way to get home, and half because I might just want to keep my sour mood to myself. By 22nd, though, something snapped.
It was a Saturday, another long 15 hour day in the office. For some reason, that day, all of the lessons I've had in Sunday School or community organizations which could be summed up with "the best way out of feeling bad for yourself is to help someone else" came flooding back. I wasn't looking for a way out of those feelings. In fact, I think I was coming to relish the late nights alone in the hotel when I could focus on the anguish. But, it was now very clear and inviting. I needed to do something for someone else.
I was in a town I hardly knew. I didn't know where to begin to find someone to help. I did some internet searching for soup kitchens, orphanages, children's hospitals and homeless shelters. I called through several of them looking for a place I could be on Christmas morning to lend a helping hand. Along the way, I was growing more excited. For the past few years, as an individual and as a family, we had been experimenting with ways to bring more meaning and less commercialization to the holiday. But, I was striking out. I couldn't find people who answered the phone, much less needed help. After a while, I refocused my efforts on the campaign needs of the day and my service project idea moved to the bottom of my to-do list and mind.
The next morning was Sunday (the 23rd). I woke up and got ready to make a quick trip to church before needing to be in the office again. As I walked out to the rental car to warm it up and remove the ice, I decided to attend Sacrament meeting in a different building than I had been going to. It was one where I had a few friends from the summer, and I hoped I might run into them. I arrived at the building a few minutes late for the beginning of the service and slipped quietly onto the back row right after the opening prayer.
It only took me a couple seconds to realize I had just walked into a Spanish branch. The speakers, hymns and ordinances were all in Spanish. Yes, I grew up 20 miles from the Mexican border, but that didn't mean my Spanish was up to par. This was not how I planned on spending my Sunday before Christmas. More than ever, I needed the messages and familiar music of the Christmas season. It would be one of the few reliable traditional components of my Christmas this year. Strangely, though, the service calmed me. I loved glancing at the children in the congregation and sharing a smile with them. There might have been a language barrier, but there didn't seem to be any distance between our spirits that day.
Somewhere in the middle of the service I had a very strong impression, and it brought me to tears. Someone in this room could use help this Christmas. It was not a coincidence I went to a different building. It wasn't chance that landed me in a church service that I couldn't even understand. The Lord knew I was looking for a way to help, and He helped me get to where it was needed.
I waited for the service to end with a lump in my throat and a pounding in my chest. It didn't take me long to decide to dedicate whatever money I would have spent this year on gifts for the family on whomever might need help. When the chapel cleared, I approached the Bishop. I really don't remember the words I used. I just remembered his suprised look when I told him basically, "I have $X to spend, and I feel it's needed here. Who needs help?". We talked for a while and decided to combine his ideas with the missionaries serving the Branch. Later that night, by phone, they told me of two elderly women and a family that were struggling. Our plan was devised. I would shop and meet them the next night so they could deliver.
The next morning, Monday (Christmas Eve) I looked forward to the time we would be let out of the office. I knew I would get gift certificates to the local grocery store for the elderly women and would run over to Target to pick up books, puzzles and games for the family. Early in the day I got a phone call from the bishop again. There was one more family that needed help. My budget was already stretched, but I promised I would come through with something.
I sent an email to the office explaining that I was helping out some less fortunate folks with Christmas. But, another family was added and my budget was used. I made a (very nice) pitch for more $ in the mug I put on my desk. I though I may pick up another $50 and get another gift card. I was already on a little high from feeling useful and grateful for a little heavenly help in identifying people who needed help. That high only got higher when to my astonishment, my email request brought in another $160 for this other family. The office was so willing to share. (I love those guys!).
This story is getting much longer than I intended it to be. But, to sum up the rest of it - I got what I needed and met up with the missionaries to hand off the goods. They somehow talked me into going along. I was, at first, uncomfortable with this. The language barrier still existed with the people we'd be visiting, and I certainly wasn't doing this to be seen. But, I did have a rental car with heated seats, and that was a real asset to missionaries serving in an Iowa winter.
The rest of the evening was so wonderful. I might have gotten a tiny taste of what Santa Claus must feel like. And, it really was true - doing something for someone else took away every last bit of sorrow I had felt. I never felt better. The joy in those childen's eyes and the relief in their parent's... the offerings of fresh tamales from the women.... knowing I had walked right into Heavenly Father's plan to help these folks.... it was the best Christmas Eve ever.
I slept soundly that night and had a peaceful day of reading and going to a movie on Christmas. I think it was "The Great Debaters" that I saw. The debate in my head was over though.
(Funky Christmas tree in Richmond - 2008)
