The Empty Stocking

THE EMPTY STOCKING

"Tonight I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking.

Once upon a midnight clear, there was a child’s cry. A blazing star hung over a stable, and wise men came with birthday gifts. We haven’t forgotten that night down the centuries. We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, the sound of bells, and with gifts—but especially with gifts. You give me a book; I give you a tie. Aunt Martha has always wanted an orange squeezer. Uncle Henry could do with a new pipe. Oh, we forget nobody, adult or child.

 

All the stockings are filled.

All, that is, except one.

And we have even forgotten to hang it up. It’s the stocking for the Child born in a manger. It’s His birthday we’re celebrating. Don’t let us ever forget that. Let us ask ourselves what He would wish for most, and then let each put in his share: loving kindness, warm hearts, and a stretched out hand of tolerance. All the shining gifts that make peace on earth."
 

David Niven, The Bishop’s Wife, 1947

 

A Bit of Family History

My dad researched our family tree back in the 1960s, in pre-Internet days. He had to do it the hard way, through letters and library archives. He had told us the story of our ancestor, Sir Gregory Clement, who was hanged for beheading the king of England.



Sir Gregory Clement

My sister found a short article on Sir Gregory Clement through Wikipedia, and they even had a portrait of him! Born in 1594, to John Clement, a merchant and Mayor of Plymouth, Gregory grew up to become a Member of Parliament and one of the regicides of King Charles I. After working for the British East India Company, Sir Gregory returned to London from India and supported Parliament in the civil war.
He became a Member of Parliament for Fowey in Cornwall in 1648.
He then served as a commissioner of the High Court of Justice at the trial of King Charles in January 1649. He was the fifty-fourth signatory on the king's death warrant. Fifty-nine commissioners signed in total. In 1652, the House of Commons dismissed him because of a reported scandal with his maidservant. Political opponent Thomas Harrison is suspect in engineering the false accusations. (Some things never change.)

When Charles II reclaimed the throne, all fifty-nine judge regicides who signed the death warrant and witnessed the king's execution feared for their lives. A few fled England, but Sir Gregory was arrested, tried, and convicted of high treason.

According to Dad's research, the executioner offered those who were convicted with him a cordial for courage before being put to death. Sir Gregory refused the elixir and went bravely (and unrepentantly) to his death. On October 17, 1660, Sir Gregory Clement was hanged, drawn, and quartered at Charing Cross. A sad ending for a man of nobility and noble causes. So, there you have it. Part of my history. And I'm sure a part of history that will prevent me from ever being invited to tea with Queen Elizabeth (a direct descendant of Charles I?).

OUR INCOMPARABLE GRIEF

The younger of my husband’s two daughters died a few years before I met him. The loss shattered the family. When I asked him about grief counseling, he said he briefly attended meetings for parents who had lost a child. However, he left the group when the parents related how their children died. Their descriptions unintentionally grew into a “can you top this?” competition. So deep was each one’s personal anguish that they had little to no sympathy with which to comfort one another.

Grief is painful, regardless of the circumstances. The death of a spouse, death of a parent, death of a child, death of a sibling, death of a friend, death of a marriage, even death of a beloved pet – each brings its own magnitude of bereavement.
I tried, without success, to choke back my tears when I told my physical therapist that my husband had unexpectedly passed away. She understood my pain. An auto accident had claimed her husband’s life several years ago. Our situations were similar in that we both lost our husbands, but they also had their differences: She identified her husband’s body from the wreckage. My husband died in my arms. Instead of comparing her loss to mine, she grasped my shoulders, looked me in the eyes, and said, “You’re going to be okay.” I desperately needed to hear those words.

To weigh one person’s loss against another’s doesn’t diminish the grief, but stabs another dagger into an already broken heart. We can offer our compassion, love, and sympathy; even months or years later, when we recognize that each loss has it’s own depth of sorrow.

(A widowed friend sent the quote to me in a text message when I lost my husband. I wish to give credit to the author, but couldn't find the source.)

Confession of a Pie Hoarder

My friends, Sarah, and her adult daughter, Grace, are (in my humble opinion) champion pie bakers. Although pecan pie had not been one of my favorites until I met these two wonderful ladies, my mouth waters at the mere thought of a slice of their pecan pie.

They brought a whole pie to my home for a covered dish luncheon during the holidays. I put it in the refrigerator during the main course and forgot to set it out for the guests when we were ready for dessert. Was that a real slip of the memory, or a subconscious desire to hoard the delicious delicacy for my own enjoyment? Hmmm.... a point to ponder for a nano-second.

When it became apparent that I could not, in good conscience, hog the whole pie, I shared it with my co-workers. All it took was a two-line office-wide e-mail: "Home-made pecan pie in kitchen. Enjoy!"

 A stampede to rival a scene from "Rawhide" confirmed my suspicions that my office buddies weren't yet sugared-out from all the earlier treats and goodies presented throughout the month of December. I thought I saw Rowdy Yates among them, but, of course, it was a sweets-induced hallucination.

In this first week of the first month of the new year, I have cleansed my guilty conscience. I have confessed my desire to hoard a treasured pie, and shared my bounty with others.

Now, I have to ask myself: was my motive to share the delectable dessert seeded in a heart of giving, or my fear of an expanding waistline?