Once as a kid I got a stomach bug over Christmas break. This was the same year my cousin Auggie made batches and batches of Chex Mix. It made my grandma's whole house smell like roasted Worcestershire sauce. I had never had Chex Mix before, and the whole family sang its salty praise. I desperately wanted to nibble even one of those checked cereal squares but my little belly was not accepting anything, let alone seasoned snack mix. To this day, a whiff of homemade Chex Mix still smacks of sickness, sadness, and feeling left out.
This year I am starting Christmas break with the flu. Initially, I felt grumpy that my first day off consisted of aches, fever, and restless sleep. Then I felt miserable and lethargic, unable to muster enough energy to get dressed. Finally, when my lethargy would not give way and I had to miss my work holiday party, I felt very sad and lonely. Missing out again. I pouted pathetically.
As the TMBG lyric “The after party has been moved to your house, to your house,” played in my head, I dared not speak my wishes lest they sounded more far-fetched outside of my head than they did in. But just when I thought the window of possibility had come and gone, the doorbell rang. My spirit leapt, casting lethargy aside. From the front hall I heard Jen say to Matt, “We don't have to come in...” “Come in! Come in!” I stuffy-headedly squealed from the couch, and there she and Kevin were in their fancy clothes handing me a plate of food, smiling, and remembering me. Their arrival seemed so natural and yet I could scarce believe the little cry of my heart had been answered. I thanked God for my very thoughtful friends and my little Christmas miracle, however seemingly small.
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