The Spirit of Christmas, The Spirit of America Written by Stephanie Mathson

E very once and a while something will come across The Consigliere's™ desk that he feels he wants to share it with everyone. So each week we shall post something different that he wants us to share with everyone.
This week we shall feature "The Spirit of Christmas, The Spirit of America"
Written by Stephanie Mathson

We have included an email form at the bottom so you can send this page.

I have not been in the mood for Christmas this year. I haven't put up my tree or otherwise decorated my apartment. I haven't done any baking, and shopping's been quite a chore. I only decided two weeks ago to send out Christmas cards.

I know why I'm in such a funk. Though my faith in God has comforted me in recent months, I don't feel I deserve to be happy this holiday season with the turmoil that is going on in our country and around the world. However, something happened to me last week that left me feeling more enthusiastic about Christmas.

F riday evening my aunt, stepfather and I went out for dinner at a local Chinese restaurant. Though the place was nearly empty when we arrived, the hostess seated us at a booth next to one where a handsome young man was dining alone. I sat down facing the stranger with my aunt and step-dad seated across the table from me. While up at the buffet a few minutes later, I commented quietly to my aunt that I thought our neighbor was cute and it was strange to see someone eating out by himself on a Friday night.

W hen we returned to our table, the lone diner, commenting on the heavy, wet snow that had fallen earlier in the day, said it was funny that winter decided to come on the weekend. Thinking of the crowds I had battled in the stores that afternoon, I laughed and replied that the slippery roads sure hadn't kept people from Christmas shopping.

I noticed the man's proficient use of chopsticks and while admiring his skill, I glimpsed a large tattoo on his lower left arm just visible under the cuff of his rolled-up shirt-sleeve. Given his short hair and neat, trim appearance, I pegged him as a serviceman. Though busy eating, I said to him, "Excuse me, but were you in the military?"

S miling, he replied, "Yes. Still am."

"W hich branch?"

"T he Marines, fourteen-years. Actually, fourteen-years and five- months now."

"O h," was all I could muster, but my aunt turned her head and quickly asked, "Will you have to go to Afghanistan?"

"I 've just returned from there," he answered. "I'm here to spend the holidays with my folks before heading back."

I was stunned. Normally gregarious, I finally stammered, "I sure hope you have a nice Christmas and a safe journey back."

"T hanks," the Marine said.

W ith suddenly not-so-funny jokes about Osama bin Laden and the Taliban flooding my thoughts, I managed to croak, "Is Afghanistan as bad as it looks on the news?"

T he soldier replied, "It's worse. I was in the Persian Gulf War and that was nothing compared to this (Afghanistan)." He went on to make reference to the necessity of going into the caves now to root out bin Laden and compared that to the work of "tunnel rats" in Vietnam.

I was silent. At the table next to mine sat a man who is fighting for our country, who deserves -- and has -- my awe and respect, yet I couldn't think of anything meaningful to say. I felt that I should.

J ust earlier that same day, I had seen a license plate, which read "IWO VET." That prompted me to comment to the friend I was with, "There's an old Marine veteran."

I n turn I thought of the U.S. Marine Corps National Memorial in Arlington, Virginia, which depicts the raising of the flag on Mt. Surabachi. I visited it for the first time just a few months ago. I had walked to the larger-than-life monument after touring Arlington National Cemetery and witnessing the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I had never felt prouder to be an American than on that sweltering August day. Then September 11th came, and I proved myself wrong.

B ut I couldn't compose myself quickly enough to express any of this to the Marine.

H e shared with us his fortune; The soldier's cookie revealed that he should alter his upcoming travel plans. I can't quite remember the fortune verbatim because I was focused more on his slightly ominous delivery as he read it. I was able to say, "I hope that's not prophetic."

D espite what must be weighing heavily on his mind, the man was in very good cheer and wished us a Merry Christmas as he passed our table on his way out of the restaurant.

T his chance encounter led me to once again consider -- for the umpteenth time since September 11, 2001 -- Christ's words in John 15:13, "Greater love have no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." In the case of our military personnel, we can substitute "country" or "freedom" for the word "friends." The sentiment is still the same.

O n September 10th, the idea of sacrificing oneself for one's country was completely foreign to me. On September 12th, I suddenly understood firsthand what my grandfathers and great uncles learned when they fought in World War II: Freedom isn't free. Freedom and liberty -- once intangible ideals -- are no longer abstract to Generation X.

I wish I had expressed all of this to the anonymous soldier my family and I met. I am guilt-wracked for not saying to him the simplest and most poignant thing of all: "Thank you!"

S uddenly, though, I now feel that it's my duty to embrace Christmas this year of all years, to joyously commemorate our Savior's birth and to cherish the company of the people I love most. Forget the trees, wreathes, lights, sweets, and gifts. Christmas was never about those things, but in our mad consumerism we forget the holiday's true significance. It is about family and friends and for Christians, faith.

T hat is, in part, why our armed forces are fighting -- so that we can continue to enjoy the freedoms for which many people in the world despise us.

T o the lone Marine I met last week, and to all our servicemen and servicewomen here and abroad, I say, "Thanks for fighting for us! May God bless you! Merry Christmas!"

* Author of "The Spirit of Christmas, The Spirit of America,"
Stephanie Mathson [mathsons@msu.edu] writes:

"I live in Lansing, Michigan, and wrote the preceding essay to explain how I feel about Christmas this year and to pay tribute to our military personnel past and present. The encounter I write about took place on Friday, December 14th, 2001 as I was out celebrating my 28th birthday a day early. Everything has changed since September 11th, yet when I see someone in the service -- like ROTC members on the Michigan State University campus or the Marine who inspired me to write this story -- I feel dumbstruck and can't think quickly enough to even say, 'Thank you!' Please feel free to forward this essay on to your family and friends, especially those in the military. And, if you send it on, please include this note and my email address. Perhaps the soldier I met will recognize himself in this. May God bless us all! Merry Christmas!"

Contributed by:
Blinky
Date :
Mon, 24 Dec 2001 10:30:39 EST
Credits:
Stephanie Mathson

T he below form is to send this to everyone you know. Type in as many addresses as you want, leave no spaces and a comma between each address.

From The Consigliere's™ Desk