Giving Christmas
By Lilia Potters
It was Christmas Eve. I was in a hurry, trying to finish my work early and prepare for the evening with my family and friends, when the phone rang. I answered impatiently, “Yes, hello?”
“Merry Christmas, Lilia!” the voice on the other end cheerfully exclaimed in accented English.
“Cecilia?” I asked. “Thank you so much for calling! Merry Christmas! How are you?” After the usual greetings and small talk, Cecilia explained that she was on night duty at the hospital where we’d first met. As the senior midwife and single, the lot had fallen on her to take the night shift this Christmas. Normally she traveled south to spend Christmas with her family, and would have attended the Christmas Day Mass in the small village she comes from. Cecilia sounded dejected and disappointed.
As a volunteer and natural childbirth coach, I had befriended Cecilia while attending the delivery when one of my coworkers gave birth. I’d stayed in touch and visited her at times, to let her know of our activities and provide her with companionship, which she obviously craved and appreciated.
Cecilia had never married, but had raised the children of her younger brother who had been killed in a car accident about twenty years earlier. The children had grown up and moved away, leaving Cecilia to live alone.
I felt a tug on my heart to tell her I’d try to come and see her for a little while that night, even though I had other plans. She sounded pleasantly surprised and even excited at my offer. She told me not to worry if I couldn’t make it, though. After all, it was Christmas Eve and I should spend this special time with my family, she said.
When I hung up, I realized that I’d just made a promise that would be hard to break. As I continued my work and preparations for the evening, I told one of my coworkers about Cecilia and asked if she’d like to go with me to visit her at the hospital later that evening, even for just half an hour. The not-so-enthusiastic response made me wonder if I should call and explain I couldn’t make it. After all, Cecilia had said not to bother if it was too inconvenient.
Everyone arrived and I temporarily forgot about Cecilia as we enjoyed each other’s company, sang Christmas carols together, sipped hot chocolate, and enjoyed the Christmas cookies our children had baked. It was already close to midnight when something jolted my memory about my promise to Cecilia. The Christmas carol we’d just sung, “He Only Left Heaven for Love That Night,” made me feel ashamed for not putting more priority on leaving my little bit of heaven to cheer up a lonely soul.
I quickly filled a Thermos with hot chocolate, wrapped some of the homemade cookies in a red Christmas napkin, and printed out some inspirational Christmas stories. I prepared a homemade card with a message of love and appreciation for Celia’s faithful care of our volunteers and all the women who give birth at her hospital. Putting it all in a plastic shopping bag, I grabbed a decorative Christmas candle to give as a gift, and a box of matches to light it with. My colleague, catching the inspiration of the moment, decided to come along after all. We left shortly before midnight.
The hospital was quiet and nearly deserted, the nursing station for the delivery ward dark. No deliveries tonight, I thought. I wonder if she already went to sleep. I quietly knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
“Cecilia, it’s me, Lilia!” After a few moments of silence, the side door to the nursing station burst open and Cecilia rushed out with open arms, her face beaming. Embracing us, she exclaimed with tears, “I knew you’d come! I just knew it!” I fought back my own tears and silently thanked God that I’d heeded His nudge to visit her.
“Cecilia,” I said, “I need some cups, because we brought you some hot chocolate. Let’s celebrate Christmas together!”
“I’ll be right back,” she replied as she hurried off. My colleague and I turned off the overhead lights and lit the candle in the small sitting area outside the nursing station. When Cecilia returned, the look of pleasant surprise and gratitude on her face was all we needed to confirm how lonely she’d felt that night.
We sat together, sipping hot chocolate and enjoying the Christmas cookies. We talked, laughed, and even attempted to sing a Christmas carol together. Cecilia exclaimed again and again that she would never forget this Christmas, and that it was the best one she’d ever had.
It was well after one o’clock in the morning when we asked if we could pray a prayer for her before leaving. We had hardly finished our short prayer of praise and blessing when she in turn lifted her hands in prayer to God and poured out her heart in thanks to Him for us. On and on she prayed, while a tear ran down her cheek. We didn’t understand all she said, as she prayed in her own language, but we realized that the little bit of love we’d shown that night had gone a long, long way.
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