It was Oct. 1, 1943, and there were nearly two years left of World War II. American G.I.s were stationed around the world, fighting tyranny...and homesickness.
Back in the United States, America’s favorite crooner, Bing Crosby, was recording what would become one of his most popular tunes, a song that reflected both the melancholy and the hopes of the age—“I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” It was a piece that channeled the feelings many Americans, both at home and abroad, were wrestling with in the midst of dark days. It also reminded servicemen of what they were sacrificing for. Yank, a magazine published for military personnel, said that Crosby, in his song, “accomplished more for military morale than anyone else of that era.” Although we are not fighting a bloody war this year, we, Americans, and the rest of our world neighbors are witnessing one of the most tumultuous years of the past decade, a year that certainly has caused our own morale to take a hit. Earlier last month, with the last of the Halloween candy gone, my thoughts turned to the holidays. My heart warmed with anticipation of my family’s trip back to Cass City for Christmas. Las Vegas, where I now live, has endless opportunities for entertainment during the holiday season, but in my mind, there is no better place to celebrate than in the little village nestled in Michigan’s Thumb. It is there that I find my family and friends, who are always up for a visit over a cup of hot chocolate. There, the peace of the town, blanketed by a late afternoon snow, refreshes me. There, the voices lifted in worship under the warm glow of the lights in the Baptist church, give new life to the old greeting, Merry Christmas. As I packed my bag, thinking about such joyful things, I hummed —I’ll be home for Christmas. But when a friend with whom we had recently been in contact notified us that they tested positive for Covid-19, everything changed. That text changed our plans entirely, not only because it meant we had to be tested (a process that took, in our case, three days), but also because it caused us to consider the severity and reality of this microscopic nemesis. It all added up to one thing — we had to cancel our plans. I would be home for Christmas, but only in my dreams. If you think about it, a change of plans is a major motif of the biblical Christmas account. The dreams of a young man and his betrothed are changed when they learn that she is carrying the Messiah of Israel. The social and political aims of Rome were disrupted by the rumors of a royal Child born in the City of David. And best of all, the status quo of the world, “in sin and error pining,” was upended when “He appeared and the soul felt its worth.” This year, my family and I will celebrate Christmas in our little apartment, not under a blanket of snow, but rather under the shade of a palm tree. It will be different, and I will, undoubtedly, dream about being home for Christmas in that most special of villages. But I will also be reminded that, no matter where we might be, no matter how white the Christmas is or is not, the event we are celebrating transcends Covid-19. The Person we are celebrating was and continues to be a major disruption to mankind’s plans. Indeed, the night His pitiful cry was first heard in Bethlehem, the future of the world — particularly that of those who put their trust in Him for salvation—was irreversibly and dramatically altered. Now that’s a change of plans I’m grateful for.
3 Comments
Shirley Shaw
12/10/2020 05:39:32 am
Ty, that was so well written..as are all your articles.
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Jane A Pierpont
12/10/2020 07:11:08 am
What a precious story... and so sweetly written..
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12/11/2020 05:35:29 pm
Always, always, always a delight to read. Never give up writing, Ty.
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AuthorTy Perry is a writer based in metro-Detroit. Archives
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