The Sock

I was born at home March 18, 1949. Don't think we could afford the hospital and don't really remember the day of the week or the time. The last of seven children, Momma named me after one of my older sister's boyfriends...Harold Stephen Brooks. Sis never even married the ole boy, but I got stuck for life with a first name I have done my best to conceal. Just don't like it! But, I do love Stephen. So, if you don't mind...

From what I understand, I was a sickly child. Pretty much doomed to death by the doctors. Seems, I was allergic to milk...all kinds. The cow didn't work. Neither did the goat! Yep, breast milk was ruled out pretty much from the beginning. According to Momma and "Deddy," (that's what I called my dad), I tried that variety from every available source, too. Anyway, as you can see, I survived...by drinking something made from soy. Beats me, but I'm glad I made it!

When I was five, we moved out in the country to the farm. I think Deddy had always dreamed of having a piece of land he could call his own. So, our lives consisted of he and Momma getting up at five in the morning in order to be at work by six at a textile mill back in town. Since they normally got home around 3:00 or so, we then "farmed" until dark. I learned to milk cows, herd bulls, ride horses (when I wasn't getting bucked off), raise chickens, and make a garden. I even had a pet rooster named Bumper, but I'll leave that memory for another day. Very early, I learned how much I love to plant and grow stuff. To this day, I enjoy eating the fruits of labor from my homegrown garden. Gotta get back to that, again, real soon.

Somewhere along the way, I got the notion we were poor. Perhaps, because we ate a lot of pinto beans and Momma's homemade "cathead" biscuits. But, to borrow a thought from comedian Dick Gregory, we were "not poor, just broke." Didn't have a lot of money, but we certainly were not poor!

Hence, my reason for writing this story. You knew I would evetually get around to it, didn't you?

Christmas was always really special to me. One of my chores was to wander the farm and cut down the prettiest cedar tree I could find, drag it back to the house, cross two boards and nail them to the bottom, and stand it in the living room as our Christmas tree. Many years later, I tried those high dollar frasier firs (and they are beautiful), but nothing can ever replace the smell of fresh cedar. It's aroma traveled throughout our old farmhouse as readily as the smell of the fatback Momma cooked on the woodburning stove in the kitchen.

Anticipation filled the air on Christmas Eve. I hated to go to bed for fear of missing Santa Claus. I would lie awake for hours trying to hear the sound of Rudolph and the other reindeer on the tinroof. Since we didn't have heat in the house, I nestled deeply down into the feather tick mattress, pulled the many homemade quilts over my head, and finally drifted off to sleep.

I would awaken Christmas morning and immediately glance down at the foot of my bed. And there it would be...the sock. A carefully crafted knot kept the contents from erupting like the mighty volcano pictured in my young mind. I couldn't wait to dig in! Inside,would be a perfectly shined apple, an orange as bright as the setting sun, a peppermint stick or two, a variety of nuts (shelling the walnuts always drove me crazy!), several pieces of chocolate covered coconut candy, and sometimes a handkerchief. Maybe, this gift explains why I always keep a clean "hankie" in my pocket for ladies who may cry. Yes, there were some other trinkets included. Maybe, even a new pair of socks.

The point of this brief story is to share with you this beautiful truth. The simplest of gifts often have the most meaning and have an everlasting impact on our lives. The sum total of all of the costly gifts I have received throughout my sixty plus years cannot add up to the childhood joy of seeing this sock full of goodies on an early Christmas morning. In fact, I believe it's time for me to start preparing some socks, stuffed full to overflowing, for next Friday, the 25th!

Let the celebration of this Christmas bring you love, joy, peace, and many great memories like the sock. Be blessed--

~Stephen (sEb)

XMAS...I Don't Think So!!!

Well, once more we race toward the Christmas holidays! Hard to believe that another year has just about come and gone. It intrigues me that quite a number of people are proclaiming their great dissatisfaction with the supposed politically correct embracing of "XMAS" to describe the most revolutionary birth of any child in world history. And, quite honestly--His name was not "X!"
It would be a somewhat amusing moment if this matter was not so downright serious!

I applaud this chorus of voices uniting to join the angels in heralding "glory to the newborn King." This "One Solitary Life" has directly affected every other life that has ever inhabited planet Earth. And, as long as a single breath remains in me, Christmas will always be Christmas...not XMAS!!! My point is simple. Christ within me boldly proclaims the celebration of this little baby born in a manger in Bethlehem.

Reminds me of those who lamely argue and debate whether prayer should remain in public schools. As long as one student remains, there will always be prayer in every public, private, and home school. "God, if you will just help me pass this test, I promise to study for the next one." I have taught elementary, middle, and high school for over thirty years...prayed every day...many times per day. If a student asked me to pray for either themselves or another family member, I joyfully accommodated the request. Why, prayer seems to accompany me wherever I go.

It seems to me Christmas is pretty much the same . Wherever I am, Christmas is there with me. As a matter of fact, 365 1/4 days per year! My gifts to you are a smile, a song, a prayer, and love. God's gift to us was His only Son, Jesus the "X." No, I don't think so! Jesus, the Christ!!!

This Christmas will be really special to me...as most all of them have been. I offer the Spirit of Christmas to every person I meet. I hope you do, too!

In closing, please reflect on the lyrics of this song I wrote a number of years ago:

Don't Leave Christ out of Christmas This Year

Copyright 1995 Stephen Eagle Brooks (sEb)

There's nothing wrong with Santa Claus, Rudolph, or Jingle Bells
Peace on Earth, Good will to men, or Santa's little elves
Mistletoe to get a kiss, a fire burning bright
All snuggled up with the kids, before a Christmas night

Isn't it wonderful? Isn't it marvelous!
But, don't leave Christ out of Christmas this year.
Don't leave Christ out of Christmas this year.

Look at all the packages beneath the Christmas tree
Look, Dad, it's what I've always wanted...what you gave to me
A GI Joe, a talking bear, a baby doll or two
I telephone to say I care, how much I do love you

Isn't it marvelous? Isn't it wonderful?
But, don't leave Christ out of Christmas this year.
Don't leave Christ out of Christmas this year.

Merry Christmas to all! And to all, a goodnight!!!

A True, True, Christmas
Stephen Eagle Brooks ©2008

 

I have always loved Christmas! After all, what could possibly be wrong with Santa Claus, Jingle Bells, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, mistletoe kisses, and the many other traditions of the most wonderful time of the year? Ah, even the subtle prospect of snow just magnifies the anticipation. From a Christian perspective, I was convinced that I fully understood the significance of December 25th and had long since resolved any concerns I may have had about the blatant commercialism of the day. Holiday music was always a personal favorite. In fact, I even wrote a song entitled “I’m in a Christmas Way” emphasizing that Christmas should be celebrated 365 days of the year. I had it all together… or so I thought.

A typical Christmas morning was rising early, cooking breakfast, awakening our three sleeping teenagers, and arguing over whether to open presents first or eat (resulting in a begrudging compromise). I remember my thankfulness that nothing could ever be better than the exhilaration of each Christmas morning. Little did I know what would ultimately make Christmas 2006 my first true, true Christmas.

Saturday morning, June 10^th, 2006 began as a fairly typical day. My wife and I attended a digital photography workshop in a nearby town. Our youngest daughter (step-daughter to me) (I despise that word!), age sixteen, had spent the night with a friend. Two older children remained at home, sleeping in. At approximately 9:30 a.m., we enjoyed a brief phone conversation with Karson (the youngest) giving her permission to go with friends to eat breakfast. Tragically, we would never speak with her again.

Nothing can prepare a person for such sudden, immutable, seemingly senseless loss. Karson never came home. Instead, she was killed in a horrific automobile wreck at around 11:30 A.M. There is no more sickening feeling than rushing home to find five state troopers, with heads down and hats by their sides, lining the sidewalk to your front door. The stark cold realization of death hit us like a sledgehammer between the eyes. From that moment on, nothing got any easier. Life, as we had known it, was no more.

I have heard that losing a child is the single most difficult thing for a husband and wife to face. It either makes or breaks the marriage. Two months later, my wife and separated. The pain was just too great…the growing rift between us, too wide.

I stayed at the house that once knew laughter and joy…all 5,500 square feet of it… complete with an Olympic size swimming pool, which remained just as empty as the house, for the next six months. What was once a family had been reduced to complete shambles.

So, during the first holiday season after the loss of my youngest daughter, I awoke at 4:30 Christmas morning, alone, really alone, to the hum of my little ceramic heater I kept in the bedroom. It simply did not seem right to heat the whole house when there was no one there—except me. No Christmas tree or other decorations. No desire to listen to Christmas music. No presents. No plans to see anyone to share holiday cheer. I was discouraged and depressed and angry at God. And I let Him know it from the moment I opened my eyes by ranting and raving, kicking Him in the shins, and asking “Why? Why? Why?” over and over again. My tirade lasted until 2:30 in the afternoon when, from absolute exhaustion, I finally collapsed in a heap beside the bed. Tears streaming down my face, I cried out to the very God at whom I was so disgusted.

His response was immediate…gentle and full of so much love and compassion. Speaking spirit to spirit and heart to heart, He softly said, “Today is my birthday. I am having a party. I invited everybody, but you are one of the few who came. I just want you to know how much I love you and had you been the only person on the face of the earth I would have still come for you. Today, for you, I am revealing the true meaning of Christmas. Thanks for sharing my birthday.”

For the first time in my life, I got it. No Christmas will ever be the same. Despite my loss, regardless of my pain, life in Him is sufficient. His presence is, indeed, enough.

In loving memory of Karson Victoria Carroll (March 7, 1990-June 10, 2006) and A.J. Estes (June 24, 1985-June 22, 2008)

A special thank you to the North Carolina Highway Patrol for their unwavering professionalism and support