Thursday, December 20, 2012

THE CHRISTMAS TRAIN

THE CHRISTMAS TRAIN






It was 1954. I was seven years old. My family lived in the poorest section of our town. My father hadn’t started his business yet. So there were times when he struggled to find work and would often be gone out of state (Connecticut at Pratt-Whitney aircraft) whole weeks at a time to find employment and bring home an income. He always did. As a child then I always remember awesome food on the table, and I always felt the security and warmth of our Spruce street home.



What I didn’t know then, and only learned as an adult, was how my grandmother – my “Bacchie” – helped us during those days of hardship. With her savings and social security she helped with the mortgage, the necessities of food and clothing, the utility bills, and even with money for the movies.



I’ll always remember her in her rocking chair, saying her daily rosaries and watching my brother Paul and I play our games – Monopoly mainly. I remember too that so many days ended with me being rocked to sleep in her arms as she continued to pray all the while, her rosary ever in her hands.



One day as she watched and rocked and prayed, I was on the parlor rug, looking through the pictures in the newspaper. It was a month before Christmas and the paper had all kinds of toys pictured in the store adds. I remember like it was yesterday the first moment that I saw it: the picture of the Lionel train set. My excitement at the sight of it was palpable and Bacchie noticed right away.



The price of the train was $4.95 – can you believe it?! Yes, in 1954 it was $4.95 for a train set of six cars made out of real metal, not plastic. There was a figure eight track set, a mountain tunnel, a railroad crossing signal with barrier bar gates that dropped down and came up again after the train passed. On one of the railroad cars – a log car – there was a crane to lift the logs off the train. The logs were part of the train set too.



The steam engine was solid black metal with chrome silver plating. It blew smoke as it traveled the track, and pellets were provided to make the smoke. You only had to put them into the smoke stack, and the electric train heated the pellets and made them smoke.



The caboose was awesome too. It was flame red and had a rear door that opened to a back platform with a railing. There was a little railroad conductor figure that could attach to the platform and ride there at the rear of the train.



My heart was so set on the thought of having that train, and Santa was most assuredly going to get it for me that Christmas. With my mom and dad I was insistent that this was exactly what was going to happen. They weren’t so sure though. They told not to get my hopes too high. The price of that train was expensive (Remember five dollars then would be a thousand dollars today…), and Santa had to buy toys for other children as well. I remember that even days before Christmas I was praying for the miracle of having a train that was too expensive to get just for me.



But then Bacchie was watching and listening to all this pleading. She had seen my excitement, and she knew how much that train would mean to me. On Christmas morning the train was there, all laid out on the parlor floor right in front of the Christmas tree!!!



What a glorious Christmas morning that was. How ecstatically happy I was. My Christmas train! I played with it day after day, week after week. I never grew tired of playing with it. And all the while my Bacchie would watch me.



I never knew as a child that Bacchie paid for the Christmas train. Times were hard for my parents, and the money for a Christmas train was not to be had. I remember hearing from my mom only as an adult how Bacchie had gone out and purchased that train for me. I remember how moved and inspired I was to learn that.





What a lesson in true love it was for me. For Bacchie all that mattered was my happiness. She didn’t need to have me know that she paid for the Christmas train. It was enough for her to rock and pray and watch me play with my miracle gift on Christmas morning.



And so the beauty of this person who showed me from my earliest years a love like only God can love. I felt that love in her arms, in her embrace – the love I feel in the arms of Mary our Blessed Mother.



It was in fact Bacchie’s dying wish the following year to have my brother and I brought from school to her hospital bed. It was so she could embrace us one more time before passing on to Christ. For as long as I live I will never forget the Love that I felt in that final embrace. It was Divine Love. It was the Love of Jesus reaching out to me from within her. It was that Love in her that brought her home to Him, and a Love like that in our hearts will bring us home to God as well.



To all my Facebook friends and to all my LinkedIn colleagues, a most beautiful and blessed Christmas to you and your loved ones, and may your New Year be filled with happiness…



In the Love of Jesus and Mary,

Doug +











Saturday, December 8, 2012

A Christmas Story

A Christmas Story




“Can you help me?!” It was as much a desperate plea as it was a question. The plea came from a beautiful young girl, and the plea was directed at me. It was a cold night in December at the Natick rest area on the Mass Pike. I had just come out of the convenience store, and the girl was standing beyond the car parked right next to mine. Long blonde hair, about seventeen or eighteen, shaggy white sweater, dress down jeans that look worn and torn when you buy them. Her eyes were tearing and they shined in the fluorescent light projecting over to us from the gas pump area.

The questioning plea was followed by the hurried talk of someone who wanted to explain all with little time to do it.

I signaled with hand cupping my ear that I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She quickly ran around her car to mine, and now we stood face to face.

She explained that she was out of gas and couldn’t make it home. Did she have a phone? Could she make a call for help? I didn’t ask. I just listened. With rapid fire urgency she made her case. She wouldn’t need much gas and she would give back later whatever gas I helped her to get.

“So you’re asking me for money?” I said. “Isn’t that it? You need money to get gas and go home?” My response to the story of her dilemma reduced her to silence. There was no “yes” or “no” to my question, only the pleading eyes of someone hoping for help, understanding, compassion, mercy.

At this point I was figuratively pinching myself, to ask myself if all this was really happening. I knew from the look on the girl’s face that her plight was real. There was no guile, no deceit. Far from that there was the pristine beauty and innocence of youth – the willingness to trust, to believe much as Anne Frank, that deep down people are good inside, children of God if you will, and if we approach them with openness we will find that goodness of the child of God made in His image.

It was now with this openness that the heart and soul of this beautiful young person had reached out to me. I was truly humbled by the courage she had shown to approach me, a total stranger, to risk showing how vulnerable she was, how much in dire need she truly was.

In my own soul and spirit the words came to me: Jesus looked upon her and loved her. I suddenly was reflecting on the many times in the Gospels where Jesus looked upon a person, whether a young rich man or a poor widow. He looked upon them and loved them; then He stretched forth His hand to help, to heal, to raise them up out of a stormy sea, or to raise them back to Life and set them free.

So now I could feel the Power of the Risen Christ within me reaching out through me to touch the life of this young girl. I now knew that this moment was not coincidence, not chance happening. The guiding hand of God’s Love had brought this moment to pass. The leading of the Holy Spirit had once more directed a person in need into the path of my life. Or on this feast day (December 8th) of the most Holy Mother of God, perhaps Mary had led this child to someone who could reveal to them the Love of her Son.

“I will help you in the name of Christ…” I said. Stunned, but suddenly excited and encouraged, she began once more to remonstrate that she would repay whatever help I gave her. I raised my hand in protest, and looking right up close into those tearing eyes, I said “Listen to me!” She became quiet.

The stage was now set for a dramatic and climactic pronouncement, and I did no disappoint. “I am going to help you in the name of Jesus Christ.” Having said that, I pulled out my billfold from my back pocket, found a twenty dollar bill, and gave it to her. The Joy that ignited on her face was like that of a child on Christmas morning. I turned to leave, not waiting to watch the tear stream down the side of her left cheek, but I know it did.

There was one glance back at her to say “Merry Christmas!” As I said it she smiled and rushed back to her car with the energy and vigor of someone renewed, restored, raised to new life, “resurrected” you might say – the ultimate sign that Jesus was there, His Risen Presence powerfully alive in the midst of us.

“Merry Christmas!”

Doug +