Day 3 – Double Meanings

To a literature teacher, there are few things more dazzling than “double meanings.” I plant the seeds for the thrill of the hunt early in my high schoolers. As underclassmen I’m constantly asking them, “and what else might that mean?” And the reward inevitably comes when they’re upperclassmen in my AP Literature class and I see their eyes pop with realization as they excitedly ask, “WAIT, Mrs. Mize. Couldn’t that also mean ____?” Magic. And it strikes me as I ponder the single-worded prompt for this year’s blog that “WONDER” is a word rife with meanings.

I remember the feeling of being a kid at Christmas vividly. While my family is a treasure any day of the year, Christmas comes with its own brand of joy. Every year my dozens of cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews gather together on Christmas Eve. We eat, we talk over each other to create the most noise you have ever heard in one room, we laugh obnoxiously, we retell the same stories. And then, each year, while the kids are off chasing each other in some far-flung part of the house, we pretend to be surprised when the inevitable sound of jingling bells comes from the front door. My Papa, dressed as Santa Claus, waltzes through the front door as the kids come screaming down the stairs, literally jumping up and down with excitement. What is this scene if not “wondrous?”

My mom has collected Nativity Scenes for as long as I can remember. Some exude nostalgia, like the one my Nana gifted us that my dad grew up having as part of his childhood decorations. Others were gifts from members of my family as they traveled the world, bringing home more and more pieces to add to her volume. She has Nativities from Mexico, England, Israel, Thailand, the Philippines, Italy, El Salvador, and Kenya. Come to my house any given day in December and you will see the overwhelming number of bowing shepherds, hooded Marys, and swaddled Baby Jesuses. And it’s fitting, of course, since the true wonder of this day, this season, is its association with this story. I have always considered myself so fortunate to have grown up constantly aware of the miracle of God’s love in my life. Christmas only made it more abundantly clear to me. The music, the programs, the family. Always, always, Jesus at the center. Always, always, gratitude for the miraculous wonder of what the day represents.

To wonder is also to question. And questions are something I have in spades. Can you follow me through a hairpin turn of tone now? Six years ago, on Christmas Eve, my dad suffered a major stroke. These six years have been filled with lots of wondering. I’ve wondered if my dad was going to die, wondered if he’d ever come home, wondered if he’d play the guitar again, wondered if we’d ever sing together again, wondered if he’d ever walk again, wondered if anything in my life would ever be “normal” again. And I’ve done a lot of wondering in my faith too. Because the unfortunate reality is that the answer to many of those questions I’ve wondered in the last six years has been “no.” He lived. We brought him home. But the person who lives in his skin now is not the person I knew and loved before. So now I wonder, how do you love someone who’s gone but not gone at the same time?

I have been luckier than most to have made it well into my 30s with a complete set of grandparents who I’m very close to (physically and emotionally). For both my Grandma and Papa, I think wonder is one of the more appropriate words to describe them. I am in awe of their commitment to each other for over nearly 70 years. I am in awe of their generosity of time given to each member of a comically large family. I am in awe of their childlike sense of joy and humor and love. This past year my Papa passed away.

Papa loved a good story. His laugh was his trademark. He was a doctor for over 50 years and he loved it so much that he worked until he was 82. He loved to drive boats and golf and take my Grandma to “chick flicks” or out to dinner. He loved to tell us stories about his childhood, about his parents or cousins or his time in medical school in Guadalajara, Mexico. And every year of my life, he put on a hot and sweaty red suit and an itchy white beard and “ho ho ho”ed and jingled a custom set of jingle bells and cracked jokes about his reindeer while the eyes we all knew so well twinkled under his fur-trimmed hat at us. At family gatherings of over 50 people, he sat each one on his lap and created special moments with each of us. A wonder. A marvel. This year those 50+ will gather again, minus one. And that one will be felt by every last one of us, I promise.

My love of words has shown me over and over that double meanings are on purpose. I think the word “wonder” demonstrates that fairly perfectly. In whatever embodiment, to wonder is to cause deeply felt emotions–excitement, amazement, questioning, awe. So much that is essential in the human journey. How fitting too for a season that is so quintessentially tied to our human experience. May every kind of wonder point you to the wonderful, wonder-filled, wondering wonderment that is this life.