When I was a teen our church youth group was invited to sing
at a Christmas concert at Disneyland. The choir director read the invitation and we went
ballistic. The event would be televised and a noted celebrity would speak
before we performed. And the best part was having the run of the park afterwards.
For a kid from a family of seven children, this was a great big hairy deal. And
one of my sisters was in the choir too, so I had someone to pal around with in
case no one wanted my company.
After the initial shock we didn’t waste any time getting our
voices into shape. “Noel, Sing We Clear”
was to be the spectacular opening number, and I can still pretty much sing the
lyrics. It brings to mind the narrow step I had to stand on and my dark blue choir
robe tickling my ankles. Our final practice was at the Disneyland Hotel with
all the other choirs. It was all so good.
This is the part of Christmas we romanticize. I mean, Disneyland, come on. The lights, the glitz and shine of
it all along with the monster Christmas tree in the square, free rides, famous
people and maybe getting noticed by members of the opposite sex – what could be
better? Well, there was one fly in the ointment.
Her name was Naomi; shy, freckled but friendly, and almost
invisible to the rest of us. I liked her but her personality type was so
different from my own outgoing cheerfulness that I didn’t pay her much mind. I
didn’t even know what had happened until a week after our wonderful Disney
holiday romp. And it came sailing through the church grapevine – to my mother.
After school one day I flopped on her bed, where she was
reading.
“Was Naomi at the concert?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“I spoke with her mother this morning.”
Uh oh, what was this about? I remembered seeing Naomi, but
that’s all.
“She’s dropping out of youth group and the choir.”
“Wow, she is? Why?”
“After the performance when all of you kids went off into
the park, she was alone. She walked around all by herself for hours until her
mom picked her up.”
My religious upbringing came on like gangbusters demanding I
feel guilty.
“Is there a reason you didn’t ask her to go around with you
and your sister?” Mom asked.
“I thought she’d go off with somebody else.” Somebody nerdy like her. Nice but nerdy Naomi, who was definitely no
boy magnet. A guilt cloud hovered in the corner.
“Her mother said she cried for days about it. She never
wants to see any of you again.”
Yikes. That cloud in the corner came in for the kill, and in
my mind I frantically reached for excuses. Had I’d done anything overtly to
hurt this girl? I kind of remembered her standing alone after the concert, not
sure of her next move as the rest of us partnered up, happy and excited. Did I
smile at her? It would have been so easy for us
to invite her along. But that nerd thing – ugh.
“Imagine if that were you,” Mom continued.
“I always try to be nice to her, though” I countered. “Maybe
she’ll come back.”
“I don’t think so.”
As the days closed in on Christmas the episode faded. I felt
bad but stuff happens, you know? None of us saw Naomi again.
I know what Christmas is really
about. I knew it then, too. As much as I enjoy the secular glittery part of
the holiday, I know its origins lie with a man whose lowly birth went unnoticed
– like Naomi. He grew up to teach love, humility and grace to those around him. And he would have been
disappointed in my dismissal of a girl who only wanted to have the same
adventure I did. To this day I am ashamed.
I will always love Christmas both ways; the romance of it,
the glitz and shine of decorated trees, wrapped packages, jolly red Santas and
every other bit. But what I learned from that particular Christmas – that there
are lonely people everywhere and at Christmastime it hurts extra – is now
hardwired into my brain. And let me tell you that what I learned from that
experience has traveled down the years.
I wish there was a way to let Naomi know that she had a part
in deepening my understanding of love,
humility and grace. That the Boy in that manger gently and miraculously reached
out and touched me through her. My hope and prayer is that she has many friends
now and that she hasn’t had a single lonely Christmas in all the years since.
I hope the same for you.
Image: Free Digital Photos
