This December, I’m slowly making my way through Calm Christmas and a Happy New Year by Beth Kempton (2020), and in Chapter 6, she presents ways to honor the melancholy – reaching out with invitations, volunteering, and setting a place at an empty chair can be forms of honoring those we have lost or sadnesses we acknowledge. She urges us to reach out to others, whether we feel up or whether we feel down. Either way, we combat the loneliness and sadness when we feel this sense of purpose and connection.
I saw a meme last week. It said, “I agree with keeping Christ in Christmas, but I’d prefer it if we could keep Christ in Christians.” And I nodded in wholehearted agreement. All too often, I hear people grumble about helping the needy, reasoning that they will only spend the money on drugs or alcohol.
There are ways of meeting specific needs without unknowingly contributing to another’s addiction, though. I have made a practice of keeping some spare change and dollar bills handy in my pocket for the seasonal charity bell ringers, but I also enjoy keeping gift cards to local fast food restaurants as well – for those who are hungry. I feel a sense of responsibility to give, and assurance knowing that the need that will be met is hunger – – not a way to drown problems in alcohol or running the risk of making a situation worse for any children who may be dependent on the person receiving the assistance.
There are ways to make a difference in small increments, and even if the goal is to help one or two people a week, that is a step in the right direction – at least for me.
That is why I couldn’t get peace while drinking my seasonal peppermint milkshake in Chick-Fil-A last night. We’d gone to have a bowl of chicken soup for supper, and I’d noticed an older lady wheeling a full-size suitcase up to a table before getting in line to buy food. She’d spoken to an older gentleman and gestured to her suitcase, so I assumed she was an acquaintance. Since we are a short distance from the Atlanta airport, the suitcase didn’t seem at all unusual.
Until it did.
When she returned to sit down, she sat at the table behind the gentleman to whom she’d spoken. I started putting the pieces together when I I saw her mumbling to herself, carrying on a full-blown conversation on her own at her table. I surmised that she’d asked the man to keep an eye on her suitcase while she stood in line for food. When she moved her jacket hood up over her head, I had the opportunity to take a longer look, unbeknownst to her.
That’s when the suitcase became no ordinary suitcase but a way to set up house for the home she didn’t have. To endure the frigid night ahead, somewhere on the streets of the city.
She’d tugged at my Christmas spirit in such a way that I had to take some kind of action to help this human soul. I could see the struggle – it was visible to me since homelessness has affected someone near and dear to my heart, and all the telltale signs were evident – right down to the mental instability. This was someone’s daughter, and perhaps someone’s mother, sister, aunt, friend. There was no denying the truth that any help would be appreciated.
As we finished our meal, the line that had been forever long the whole time we’d been eating had miraculously disappeared. I was able to slip over to the register while my husband cleared our table. I purchased a gift card enough for a few meals and asked the Chick-Fil-A employee to deliver it to the woman for me to lessen the attention and avoid any embarrassment. Sure enough, the high school-aged boy took the gift card to the lady in the blue jacket with the hood up over her head with the suitcase propped at the end of her table.
And in this way, witnessing someone without a home at Christmas, I thought of the deep need to become a better steward of blessings. Certainly, one small act cannot meet the depth of need that is evident if we only look around, but a collection of small acts by those who are attuned to others around them can add up to make a notable difference.
I don’t share this story to bring attention to my act of giving, but to share the bittersweet joy that one small act of care can bring for both giver and recipient, even as we wish we could do so much more. Indeed, more is needed – we witnessed two more clear situations on the way home where needs were evident. I share this story to bring appreciation for the shelter and food that we do have and how so often the basic needs we may take for granted are brought into focus when we bear witness to those for whom the provisions of shelter, warmth, and food are only the dream.
After all, this is one small way to honor the melancholy and to make a difference in the season when our blessing deserves to be spread around for others to realize moments of comfort – and above all, to know that someone cares. Honoring the melancholy is not a comparative act, or one of positional self-worth or more-fortunate-than-thouness-so-let-me-toss-you-a-scrap. Honoring the melancholy is staying attuned to the rhythms of life with the understanding that these situations and emotions do not discriminate. Melancholy and adversity come alongside all of us throughout our lives in different ways – and if we are to be blessed in our own times of need, we must bless others in theirs.
Common Threads 