Old Order Mennonite Memoirs

Dear December,

Like a blanket, you covered all the months that came before you and brought the year to an end. A misty, gray day was the knot that tied it all together. Though your nights were long with darkness, we chopped them shorter at both ends with lamp light indoors and packed your short days to the brim.

Although you did give us two balmy days in which I worked in my garden and greenhouse, most of your days resembled the winter which you are. Winter wasn't officially here, however, when you dumped nine inches of snow on us, much to the delight of little people. But was it a dream? So soon, your rain and warmer temperatures made them put away the sleds and other snow toys. The boots and mittens, so suddenly needed, were also suddenly stored away again.

The cookies we made in your days and let the children decorate, are mostly gone but the cards and letters remain, like glowing embers in a fire, warming my heart while lying together in a basket. The connection was made through mail like it has for as long as I can remember. In your 2020 month, however, I still wait for one card specially bought and sent for us. Since your days are gone, we also wait for two daily devotionals for January, obviously stuck somewhere in the mail.

The age-old carols of Jesus' birth rang again in your days, among other songs, around the table, on the couch, shared, but also at the sewing machine or feeding calves, my single voice, praising the God who made your days and nights.

In your days we were blessed, not only with food way beyond what we deserve but also family togetherness. Some of them were family by the blood in our veins, others were family by faith, members of the blood-washed band.

Your month has poinsettias among the houseplants lining our window sills. A pane of glass is the separation between death and life for them. You are about gifts, first frankincense, gold and myrrh from the east for the King, the Gift itself. Was it called December then? Whether yes or no, we celebrate the Baby in the manger in your month, with gifts being a great part of it.

The connections to the celebration reach out and swallow up many of your days, causing us to put our other plans on hold sometimes, but not always. On two of your days, we knotted comforters to send overseas to someone who needs them. But for the grace of God, we would be the one needing the blankets instead of designing and making them.

The next time we knotted and chatted, you were gone for one day, but starting a new year with knots of love and care was a joy to me. I hope to make many more knots since we have come past your busy days.

You were gone also when I finally finished the book, The Edge of Eternity. But in your days were born two calves in one day. One was small and white. I named her Edge. The other was big and black and I named her Eternity. We already have an Alcorn in the barn named for his little book, The Treasure Principle, the better of the two, by far.

Perhaps they were waiting for a new year, the new couples that took a first walk at the Saturday evening singing in Frosty Hollow Road. Of the four, starting the new year with love, was included a young man from Union County.

Love glowing and fire burning made warmth in your days. Floors cluttered and children crying mixed with dishes washed and children smiling. Hearts hurting and eyes brimming mixed with hand shakes and fist bumps. Prayers ascending came with blessings given in your days.

Thank you for being you, with ice and snow, sunshine and mists, rain and wind. You are what God made you.

Good-bye.