The first batch incorporated a piece of fabric from my shelf that was printed with the text of the Christmas story in gold letters. I was frugal in cutting bits to surround the white present, noticing that mere scraps of sentences are enough to evoke the entire message, at least to those who know it by heart. But even utilizing the thriftiness that I inherited from my mother, I eventually ran out of fabric and had to explore other possibilities. Finding yardage with the words from Luke was not as straightforward as one might expect, so I chose a print of green with the 23rd Psalm. This message too is one of timeless calm amid the shadows of death, and made a soothing backdrop for another pile of cards. But I kept looking online. I found fat quarters of both the names of Jesus, and familiar carols. For the price of dinner at my favorite restaurant, they arrived at my door. Eighteen by twenty two inches each, which afforded me nineteen more cards. 

 

The steps for creating each one could not be rushed. Print the paper used on the back as a guide. Measure and cut strips and trapezoids. Stitch on my seventy year old Featherweight, since I took my lovely Bernina in for a spa day. Usually such routine maintenance only keeps us apart for a week, but since every other seamstress within a hundred miles had also been overworking her machine the wait time for getting her back was a month. Then came the iron, which because of idiosyncrasies in our wiring cannot be done when the air conditioner in the living room is on. Which, taking place in July, was likely. Hence, the need to press in the early morning. Next, I slipped each sewn block into a paper frame. I went hunting through my ribbon basket for bits of red and white flourishes, and gingerly tied them into bows to keep the contents of the gift a secret until Christmas morning. After that I addressed the envelopes, wondering which of the people I love would have moved, or even died before December arrived. 

 

It might strike you as foolish to prepare cards in the face of such uncertainty. Surely the tumultuous political climate, economy, and health crisis would all thrash us with unforeseen changes before this message of cheer arrived in anyone's mailbox. There were other real possibilities that threatened my capacity to celebrate the Lord's birth in ways I have historically enjoyed. So it was with an air of defiance that I filled a box with hope. 

 

The motif of the message is the gift. Once we reign in our expectations.... that our routines will not be disrupted, that our jobs will continue unchanged, that the status quo will not waver.... we begin to unwrap the giftness of each new day. Opening the events of a fresh morning with curiosity rather than monotony transforms our lives. 

 

The card was blank inside. This was my subtle reminder that the story of the Lord's birth is ongoing. It does not end with a greeting, however sincere, from my home to yours. Neither can it be purchased with the price of a stamp. Maybe people would send the card on its path to a new receiver, signing their own name, The fabric would like that. It is a more accurate reflection of how gifts actually work. We simply pass them along. 

 

The thought crossed my mind that I could deliver these cards early. Before Thanksgiving. Before Halloween. Before Labor Day. They were prepared. But I daresay people were not ready to open it. Some messages need to ripen, not so much because of the giver as the receiver. 

 

The God of Eternity bowed the heavens at a time when social stability, and religious freedom were in free fall. And yet that climate of chaos does nothing to diminish His power. Any delay to when He is born in our hearts is less about His backlog and more about our receptivity.