19 December 2004
Ian Cumming
Introduction:
In our Bible, we have two Gospels – Matthew and Luke – that tell stories of the birth of Christ child. Matthew tells of an angel visiting Joseph, and of the visit by the wise men, and of the slaughter of children in Bethlehem who were two years and under – a parallel to the slaughter of infants when Moses was a baby. Luke tells of an angel visiting Mary, and stories of Mary and her cousin Elizabeth, and Zechariah. Luke tells of shepherds being visited by angels, and coming to visit the Christ child.
These aren’t complete stories. We don’t have all the details. Their intent is not to be factual accounts, but rather to draw us into a story of God being birthed among us – of Emmanuel, God with us. Are these just a stories of a past event, a one-time occurrence, or does the story of the birth of the Christ child tell us of God’s constant birth among us?
We light candles of Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love. Is God born among us in all the moments that Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love are present in our midst? If we look for the spark of God’s divine light among us in our day to day living, will we be transformed, like the shepherds who encountered angels? If we seek out the advent of God among us, will we be rewarded with encounters with God’s presence, like the wise men who knelt and offered gifts to the young child, Jesus? Can we name our own stories as stories of God’s birth and blessing in our lives? Can we name our children, our parents, our friends, even ourselves as being children of God? As having a divine spark within us? Or a healing presence?
Ian Cumming has been gracious in agreeing to share his Christmas story with you - a story of two wise people from the West, who went to the East in search of a child.
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The Healing Power:
A year ago, in a hotel lobby in Beijing, China, our daughter Mei Le’s beaming smile caught the eye of an American. He gushed to us how beautiful she was and ran to his room to get his wife and son, so they could meet her. They were flying to somewhere in China in a few days to get their new daughter.
Now the American, who was from Georgia, made the classic southern geographic mistake and in his cooing talk with Mei Le mentioned something about living in Canada, would allow her to “have a trap line and be able to hunt bear.” Allison bit her tongue.
But later in the conversation, after sharing some of our respective personal history, this tough ex Marine who had seen so much of what is horrible in troubled countries of the world, said, “this little girl is going to heal a lot of hurt.”
From an intellectual, common sense point of view, you would wonder how really? A mere 10 month old baby, who only days before could not sit up unassisted, had never even heard English, could by her mere presence heal suffering. After all society provides trained professionals to do that; clergy, social workers and psychiatrists who charge by the hour.
But this American’s intuition was right. Although it was only a week since Allison and I had first held Mei Le in our arms, that unspoken ache stemming from our baby son's grave up the concession, which I guess we thought we were always supposed to live with, was somehow being healed.
Now, in the quiet of night, instead of us silently staring misty eyed at a ceiling, we are propped on our elbows, whispering, staring in misty eyed wonderment at the baby sleeping in the crib beside us.
Less than 24 hours after being home, a lady sat at our kitchen table with Mei Le on her lap. They faced each other, smiled and from that moment somehow connected; with Mei Le now always seeking her out in crowds and squirms with delight when that lady baby sits in our house one afternoon a week.
While our plane had been in the sky the day before on our long flight back to Canada, that lady’s husband of 55 years had died.
There were my three children, two in university, one in the last year of high school, who were somewhat wary of what Mei Le’s arrival was going to mean.
They all fell in love with her instantly. The twins emailing several weeks after Christmas to bring Mei Le to a track meet at McGill, “so our friends can meet her.” My son and her have become inseparable when in the same room, with him also finding that with her in his arms it makes him a chick magnet.
Through the last year Allison has, in the words of her friend, “just shone,” with Mei Le. So many of the special, tender moments have been photographed, many others have not. The first step, the first words, the hugs and kisses. They share a love of animals, adventure and funky clothing.
Over the course of every year Allison had bought individual Christmas gifts for a host of family and friends. Taking the time and having the intuition to know what would be special for each.
The other day Allison handed me a UNICEF form with a list of the same people she always shopped for. This year they were all getting donations in their names to help needy children.
“I’ve spent $500,” she said, and before I blurted, “we can’t afford that, charity begins at home,” I was touched by the simple beauty of the act. That amount was probably spent other years on gifts.
On Friday Allison was supposed to drive for her sixth daily meeting in Ottawa, important stuff for the industry she works for. But she had decided to stay home and cancelled the baby sitter, her and Mei Le cuddling on the couch. Outside a raw east wind bringing the first skiff of snow.
“It would be better for Mei Le to have a little sister,” she told me quietly. “I haven’t decided yet, I’m not being as productive as I should be at work. Plus I don’t know from where; Africa, China, Korea, Trinidad? There are so many children in this world that need a home.”
And, like that baby in Bethlehem over 2,000 years ago, who will heal beyond all understanding.
