Le Royaume

My Mother’s Wisdom

Christmas was fast approaching and there was still no Christmas tree in the house. I was about seven years old and it was our first Christmas away from my maternal grandparents whom I loved very dearly. My parents had been forced to move far away because there was no work for my father. So, in June 1962, we had moved away from our native Abitibi region.

On this first Christmas far away, we were very lonesome for the land of the Abitibi. In my child’s heart, this beautiful time of the year brought with it a deep nostalgia for my grandparents’ farm.

My mother could feel that sadness was settling in in my heart in this time of rejoicing. Having taken me aside, she asked me, in her very gentle voice, what saddened me so much. So I revealed to her that it saddened me to be so far from grandfather and grandmother, and that I was worried because I still could not see a Christmas tree in the house. She explained to me that, if all went well, we would be able to spend a few weeks with my grandparents next summer. As for the Christmas tree, she gently explained to me that there would not be one because we did not have enough money to buy one. That is when I became aware of the poverty in which we lived.

Tenderly, she asked me to accept this sacrifice and to offer it up to the Child Jesus as a Christmas present. After all, it was His birthday and not mine. I accepted begrudgingly because I could not see any further than the Christmas tree. So I secretly made up my mind that I would go in search of a tree for Christmas.

The following week, unbeknown to my parents, I put on my boots, my snowsuit, my tuque and my mittens. Before going out, I went down to the basement. I saw on my father’s workbench a small metal saw. There was also a larger handsaw, but it was too big for my child’s hands, so I opted for the first which I hid in my snowsuit. We lived out in the country and not far behind our house (which my parents were renting), there was a small wooded area and a large meadow where the neighbors’ cows would graze in the summertime.

So I took the small sled in the garage and set out in search of what I thought Christmas was. About a half a kilometer away, I quickly saw that the more I walked, the more I realized that finding a Christmas tree was not an easy task.

In spite of that, I noticed that there were beautiful fir trees. Sadly, I had to admit that I was too little to be able to cut down a tree on my own. So, putting the saw on the sled, I returned home empty-handed, and very sad at not having been able to bring back a tree. When I arrived, I noticed that my father’s saw, which I had put on the sled, was no longer there. So I came into the house crying. Knowing my temperament, my mother guessed what had happened. Thinking I would be scolded, I accepted in advance the consequences of this event. So I told my mother everything; it was better that way. The Christmas tree had lost all its brilliance, for my father’s saw, which I had lost, took up all the room in my heart. My mother dried my tears and explained to me that she would tell my father everything and not to worry about the saw or the Christmas tree anymore.

That evening, after our prayers, mother tucked us in, my little sisters (who were not yet going to school) and I, as she told us to continue praying and offering up this sacrifice. In my heart, the sorrow over having to face my classmates as they asked me what I received at Christmas did not thrill me in the least. Even if there was still a week of school before the Christmas holidays, I was already fearing the return to school after the Christmas break. I was somewhat embarrassed and even ashamed over having to reveal our poverty.

So, the next morning after breakfast, I went off to school. Before leaving, my mother assured me that there would be a surprise waiting for me upon my return from school. In my poor little head, I thought the surprise would be a Christmas tree. Confident and happy, I thought the day at school would never end.

When the final bell rang at the end of classes, I was one of the first to leave and I ran almost all the way home. So I came into the house out of breath, with my heart pounding to such an extent that I thought it would jump out of my chest. I did not even take the time to put my clothes away. Mother was waiting for me, and she asked me to please hang my clothes on the coat peg before going up the stairs to the kitchen. I promptly obeyed her request with much enthusiasm before following her into the living room as she had asked me to do.

How surprised I was when I arrived there to discover that there was no Christmas tree but, instead, a very beautiful crib or nativity scene. Really, the Christmas tree was no match for the magnificent decor there before my eyes. I was amazed at how everything was placed and decorated. And yet, it was the same crib as the one that was underneath the Christmas tree the previous year and the other Christmases I remembered. But this time, it was as though my child’s eyes were seeing a crib  for the first time. My heart swelled with a tremendous joy.

The crib was set up in ascending levels on “crepe” paper imitating field stones. Icicles and garlands decorated the edge of the little table upon which it was placed. There were even a few Christmas ornaments. Everything was so magnificently well put together that I completely forgot about the Christmas tree.

Then, my mother took me close to her and asked me what I saw in the crib. So I described all that was inside it. There was Mother Mary, Papa Joseph, the cow, the donkey, two shepherds with a few small sheep and a little lamb ready to warm the Infant Jesus’ little feet when mother would put Him in the manger on Christmas morning. Everything was there. My mother kissed me as she said (and here I will never forget her words): “There is something else in the crib which you did not see. Listen to your heart and look carefully into the nativity scene and tell me what you see.” While I looked inside, I began to think for a few minutes and then, very touched, tears began to roll down my cheeks, because as I looked through my tears, I began to see the poverty in which Jesus’ family found itself. I said to my mother: “Oh! but, Mother, the little Jesus... He too was poor like us!”

My mother’s reply still echoes in my heart: “Well, yes, and that is why the poor have lots of room in Jesus’ heart. He understands them because He knows that it is not easy and that this requires a lot of privations. You see, the poor and the humble are the ones who resemble Jesus the most. Whatever happens, Jesus will always be there for you. When you will be older, you will understand.”

And effectively, today I understand many things. In her great wisdom, mother made me understand what the feast of Christmas really was. All the embarrassment and shame I had previously felt were dispelled at the same time. It mattered not about the presents or what I would have to say to my classmates after the Christmas holidays. I had just felt the Love Jesus bore to the poor. I felt myself loved and happy to be living in a poor family like that of Jesus.

It has been almost fifty years since that Christmas and, every Christmas, I cannot help but relive that wonderful moment. The crib has always had a place of honor in my own home. In His great kindness, God etched forever this instant of LOVE in my life.

I conclude this incredible and memorable grace of my most beautiful Christmas with this traditional prayer which comes to me from my mother, taught her by her father and before him by his father. A prayer that has been perpetuated from one generation to the next. A prayer I taught my children and which I hope with all my heart they, in turn, will teach to their children some day. We were in the habit of saying it with them every night and more particularly before the crib at Christmas and during the Christmas season. I still like to pray it today. During the Christmas season and before the crib, I like to meditate upon that very sweet and unforgettable moment of my childhood. So I offer you this prayer as a gift:

Éveline Hull Beaudin