It was Christmas Eve 2003, but all the familiar traditions of Christmas Eve were nowhere to be seen. The scrumptious, candlelit feast was replaced with boxed meals from a vending machine; the melodic “O Holy Night” was drowned out by discordant beeps and buzzes; the brightly wrapped gifts were substituted with finger pricks, and the angel’s joyful declaration came to me as “Your tests were positive for Type A Influenza”. There I sat in Avera Mckennan’s Emergency Room… on Christmas Eve.
After a couple hours of waiting, I was admitted and transferred to One East, an all too familiar wing of the hospital. As I was wheeled to my room, I caught glimpses of decorated trees, wreaths, and garlands in the hallway and waiting rooms, reminding me that Christmas was indeed tomorrow. Succumbing to the fact that Christmas would be different this year, Mom and I settled into the room. Right on schedule, an IV was inserted; x-rays were taken; blood was drawn, and respiratory treatments scheduled.
Around 10 p.m., I was finally told to get some rest, but with every muscle aching, my body didn’t readily welcome sleep. I tossed; I turned; I sat up; I went back to bed, but no position brought comfort or relief. Mom clicked through numerous television stations, searching for some distraction. The clock was nearly striking midnight when Mom came across a station featuring different choirs singing carols.
“Maybe we’ll just listen to the beautiful music,” Mom said, sitting down on the bed next to me.
“Hm-mmm,” I moaned. I closed my eyes, praying that Christmas would bring a better day.
I opened my eyes to find Mom sitting next to the bed. But the room was different; it was much smaller, and many machines surrounded my bed. Numerous tubes weaved over my body, and where they were connected I didn’t know. I didn’t remember having that many tubes when I fell asleep; I didn’t recall actually getting the tubes, but then again I was asleep.
"Where am I?” I whispered.
“You’re in ICU,” Mom explained.
“Oh,” I said, “then it must be Christmas today.”
Mom looked puzzled. “No, Christmas was three days ago. Don’t you remember?”
I didn’t remember; I had only closed my eyes for a few brief moments, and the next thing I knew Christmas was three days ago. I was later told that I had visitors on Christmas Day, talked to my sister on the telephone, and even said Merry Christmas. I had no recollection of these events; for me, Christmas Day had been lost and forgotten somewhere between late Christmas Eve and three days later.
To this day, I have no memory of Christmas Day 2003; it’s been erased. Of course, I have the stories from others regarding how sick I was, what procedures were done, and how Christmas was forgotten among the frenzy of keeping me alive. It bothers me a little that I missed Christmas Day 2003, but this forgotten Christmas causes me to think about one particular character in the Christmas story—the innkeeper.
In Luke 2, it is noted that while in Bethlehem Mary gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in clothes and placed him in a manger because there was no guest room available for them. Oftentimes, contemporary renditions of this story will have an innkeeper shouting “There’s no room for you here” and slamming the door.
I can’t help but think of a few questions: did the innkeeper forget about the young expectant girl on his door step, did the innkeeper ever wonder if the young couple found proper shelter, or did the innkeeper ever consider that this relatively forgettable girl was going to bring an unforgettable gift to the world? I don’t know.
Like the innkeeper, the True Reason for Christmas can be forgotten among the bustle of holiday activities. But remember Christ came to give something unforgettable—salvation to a world who continually forgets Him. Remember the Reason for the Season, and don’t be left with a forgotten Christmas!
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