His name was Raymond A. Mitchell but everyone called him Pop-pop. He was my grandfather. Christmas was memorable at my grandparent's home not only because of the gifts we received (a handmade item from my grandmother like a Raggedy Ann or Andy doll, and a stocking filled with treats that included candy, nuts, apples and oranges) but because of the love that abounded.A quiet and gentle man, Pop-pop possessed an inner strength that I admired. At church he graciously greeted guests, dutifully checked attendance and was a favorite with all the children (his coat pockets were always filled with little goodies like zebra-striped gum which he handed out liberally).
In 1979, when I was fifteen, Pop-pop was diagnosed with colon cancer. Although weakened in body my grandfather remained a strong presence in my life. One morning as I and my siblings were headed off to school, the phone rang; Pop-pop had died. It was December 21.
Calling hours were that evening at our house. As family gathered to comfort one another and friends came to pay their condolences, sadness lingered among the Christmas lights and holiday trimmings. And then our minister, Father Jeff Rawthorn, arrived. He shook the snow off his coat, walked directly over to my grandmother and taking her hand in his he gently said, "Imagine, spending Christmas with Jesus."
Of all the words spoken that night those few captured my attention and spoke life into my heart and hope into my spirit. It was true, we were not able to be with Pop-pop that Christmas but Pop-pop was with the one whose birth we were to celebrate in just a few days.
Christmas, although a little more somber that year was not without joy. Memories were shared, gifts were exchanged and the peace that passes all understanding was present that day because of a simple reminder from a wise Episcopal priest; "Imagine, spending Christmas with Jesus."
