Conversation Between Father, Daughter About Mother's Death

CHRISTMAS SHOPPING Before the days of Christmas, I shopped everywhere. I couldn't stand the music. I couldn't stand the glare. The thing that I most wanted was to go out on a walk. God listens to me best when I am free to talk. God listens to me best when I can see His love. It's in His trees and bushes, and even in God's dove. But when I walk through stores, and concern myself with things it's just as if He never came, and all my thoughts are dreams. I would rather address Christmas cards whenever I feel like it. No one else would understand, but I know I'd really like it. Tradition makes a fool of me, and ties me with life's string. Every year I fight the crowds and destroy what God wants to bring. This year I'm going to be a friend to those I don't yet know. I'm going to spread the love of God wherever I may go. And if I can't get those December Christmas wishes out, everyone will know by January God has been about. Christmas is reality. It's the story of God's Son. It isn't bags or tassels, or treasures to be won. As I was getting off the escalator in front of me just ahead, a lady with a torn up bag smiled at me and said: "They certainly don't make bags like they did Christmas' before." "That's probably not a real bag," I said. "They don't make them anymore." Janet Marie Bingham