Congratulations to the following three SCWC members for their winning entries into the "Not So Hallmark" Christmas Writing Challenge. The challenge? To write about a humorous, difficult, or other unexpected Christmas experience; the story could be true or fictional, but needed to be less than 1,000 words in length.
We received many entries (we wish everyone could have won!), and are happy to recognize the following writers for their winning submissions.
1st place: DeAnn Starling
2nd place: Grace Booth
3rd place: Shannon Leach
Read their winning stories below.
"Broken at Christmas"
by DeAnn Starling
"He heals the broken-hearted and binds up their wounds." - Psalm 147:3
A few years ago, instead of shopping, wrapping presents, or addressing Christmas cards, I watched the movie "Christmas Vacation" with my husband and kids for about the twentieth time. And the truth hit me. I am Clark Griswold.
Every year, I share his excitement for the season and make big plans. This will
FINALLY be the year that I finish shopping by Thanksgiving, organize the house, have presents wrapped by December 1 instead of frantically wrapping on Christmas Eve, host the family (even though I forget to practice cooking during the rest of the year), mail the Christmas cards before New Year's Day, sing all the carols, go to all the shows, and yes, host a party! How great would that be?
Yet, like Clark, I find that nothing ever goes as planned. I procrastinate. I forget that the computer with all the Christmas card addresses crashed two years ago. The kids postpone studying for finals and then are forced to cram non-stop. I forget to plan the party until December 23. I buy the wrong presents; and, when I am too tired to read labels, try to return the presents to the wrong stores (true story). I end up frustrated, cranky, and feeling like a failure.
I feel broken.
Some years, I am physically broken. The year my husband and I moved into our first house, I was so excited and overflowing with plans. Our daughter, Sidney, was a year old, and I quickly declared that this would be, without a doubt, The Best Christmas Ever. I had just pulled out the Christmas china when my throat starting hurting. The next morning, I woke up with strep throat, fell down the stairs, and broke my foot and tailbone. Within a week, I had crutches and endured a painful surgery. Then I received the news from Sidney's doctor: Sidney had a life-threatening heart defect that would require major surgery. My baby's heart was literally broken, and I felt like mine was too.
I was broken.
Another Christmas, my arm was in a brace, our son was on crutches, and all my plans seemed to fail once again. I was having trouble finding joy in Christmas after my dad’s death. For the first Christmas in my lifetime, he wasn’t waiting to open presents with me. The thought of that just broke my heart into a million pieces.
My spirit was broken.
And yet, sometimes my brokenness pales in comparison to the hurts of others. A small child choked on a chicken nugget at the mall last week and died. A 3-year-old child had a seizure and was buried the same day I celebrated my son's birthday. And all I know to do is cry out, "God, why? Why do I feel so inadequate? Why can't suffering take a holiday at Christmas? Why do we not only suffer and feel broken, but why is the brokenness so MAGNIFIED at Christmas?"
And God answered me.
Maybe Christmas is the best time to be broken.
If we just have the perfect decorations, presents, parties, and cards, we only celebrate a holiday, no different from any other one. But, if we fall to the ground, crushed by our own failures and weaknesses and hopelessness and the brokenness of this world we live in, ONLY THEN can we see our need for the baby born in the manger. ONLY THEN can we see that Jesus is our only hope in this hurting world. He came so that I have the certain hope of seeing my dad again. The devastated parents can KNOW that they will see their children again. And I can know that no matter how I fail in my own plans, He is there to offer grace and mercy. He will fix the brokenness, either on this earth or in heaven.
If you are hurting this Christmas, I pray that your pain will lead you to the manger. I pray that your brokenness, and mine, will lead us to a deeper appreciation of God's most precious gift to us, His Son.
Even if you feel like Clark Griswold too.
"Empty Nest Christmas"
by Grace Booth
As Christmas Day approached, my spirit sang with excitement. I had shopped since summer. Gifts for family and friends lay wrapped under the tree festooned with silver ribbons and glass ornaments. Favorite recipes and cooking staples sat ready to work their magic; logs in the fireplace anticipated the first match. I
waited eagerly for those Norman Rockwell photo moments to capture on film.
Then the phone rang. After Gramps passed away months earlier, our two college-aged daughters had moved into their grandfather’s house. For them, this Christmas represented a chance for independence.
Our older daughter called with the news. “I just wanted you and Dad to know that we won’t be there Christmas morning. We have other plans, but will see you later in the day,” I managed a weak, “OK.” I thought I had adjusted to the empty nest, but now I felt abandoned. Surely our girls cherished our Christmas traditions, the family still in their pajamas, gathered around the tree opening gifts!
With robotic motion, I set the phone down, wondering how I could face Christmas morning without them. I said little to my husband and reminded myself that our extended family’s Christmas Eve celebration would still be honored. Although we would still celebrate Christmas, our special Christmas morning would seem like a cruel joke, a Christmas without children.
As Christmas cards arrived depicting families in sleighs together, posed and smiling, I cried inside. Each day I walked past piles of gifts that would remain unopened until late Christmas Day. They reminded me of the coming empty Christmas morning. The joyous cards and happy holiday movies taunted me.Tiny Tim’s family had shared few gifts, but they still had each other. I wished Christmas would silently fade away. Instead the relentless carol cacophony, the riot of color and lights all around mocked my wishes and seemed to grow each day.
On Christmas morning I awoke to a quiet house. From the back bedroom, I strained to hear signs of life. Silence. If I could sleep through the morning, I wouldn’t have to notice the girls’ absence. Where had my husband Doug gone? I tried to fall back to sleep. Within minutes, my husband rushed into the room,carrying a cup of coffee and the morning paper. I lay still. No cheery, “Merry Christmas!” could change my circumstances. Ignoring my sleeping act, my husband came bouncing on the bed. “Honey!” he said. “There’s a kitten outside.”
Although I loved cats, his statement didn’t move me. How could he act like this was a perfectly cheerful Christmas?
“The kitten’s under the car. I saw it when I went out to pick up the paper,” he continued. “I think it’s hurt.” How could I think about a cat? Desertion from our children, and now distraction techniques from my husband! I shuddered at the distorted gifts this Christmas was bringing.
“I’m going out to get the kitten,” Doug continued. “Get some rags from the garage. This cat is full of motor oil.” Out he went through the front door, leaving me to weigh his words. Perhaps he wasn’t making up this story about the cat just to get me out of bed.
Within minutes he came back inside. “Where are the old towels? Hurry up!” I found my slippers and walked to the bathroom to get an old towel. He came into the den carrying a wet dark clump of fur in his arms. It didn’t seem to be breathing. It’s probably already dead, I thought, not wanting to look. What good is a towel now? I hazarded a glance. Its fur stood up in all directions like a rock star’s hair. My husband’s attempts to tame it had no effect at all.
“I’m going to call him Texaco,” Doug announced, “Tex, for short.” “Sure,” I thought and I shall call you “Sir Galahad,” for your grand performance.
I started to feel sorry for the kitten. I grabbed some paper towels and wiped the water from its eyes. It was too weak to resist. Its hair, still a fright, at least smelled clean after Doug washed it with dishwashing detergent.
“Go find a cardboard box.” Doug ordered. I turned and walked to the garage. One glimpse inside reminded me of all the clean up yet to come once this wasted Christmas season ended. To clean up after a great meal and a joyful celebration was one thing, but to work without the satisfaction of pleasant memories seemed pitiful. What a joke this Christmas had turned out to be—and the joke was on me.
I spied a box and placed it by the fireplace close to the warmth of the fire Doug had started earlier that morning. The kitten curled up on top of a folded fresh towel and instantly closed its eyes. A stranger’s arms and a simple cardboard box produced such contentment. I remembered the baby Jesus lying in a simple trough sleeping contentedly too, and wondered how I had lost my sense of space and connection.
Jesus had slept in humble conditions without a murmur. Here, Tex slept, ignoring the world around him. Why shouldn’t I be able to sleep and be happy? I had my husband’s loving arms. I had a warm home and daughters who would come to see me, even if it would be later in the day. Jesus had slept in humble conditions without a murmur.
Curling myself up on the sofa, I continued to gaze at the cat. I knew I could make it through this morning. I went into the kitchen to begin to make breakfast. Surely I can muster the grace this creature had shown and the babe of long ago had taught. “Sleep tight, Tex,” I murmured. “You have brought something greater than a distraction for me.
You have filled my nest this Christmas morning with more than your purring presence. You have helped to restore my focus on the love the Baby came to bring for anyone who opens his heart to accept it. His love can fill any empty nest."
"Interrupted"
by Shannon Leach
She grabbed her keys and headed for the door. She paused and straightened her favorite ornament on her tiny table-top Christmas tree. That ornament would be the closest she would ever get to the reality of the word that was written on it, Family. She sighed as she double locked the door behind her and trudged down the stairs continuing to wish an impossible wish.
Frankie had been here long enough to know that the long walk to her car would be a frigid one. She fumbled with her keys as the cold struck her fingers, making her wish that she had splurged on gloves last week instead of gifts for her co-workers. As much as she wanted to give during the holidays, her lack of steady income put this desire in direct conflict with her need to stay warm.
She brushed the snow off the window and crawled across the seats from the passenger side. As she settled in, she shot a weary side glance toward the driver’s side door, silently acknowledging that her neighbor’s quick fix of duct tape and wire would only last so long before the door finally fell off.
She crossed her fingers and turned the key. Nothing. Not a sound. She let her head fall onto the steering wheel. That’s okay, I didn’t really want to go anyway, she thought. It was nice of her pastor to invite her over for dinner, but it would not be the first Christmas she spent alone and certainly not the last. This was just the adult life of a former foster kid; she had accepted it long ago. The facts of her life didn’t change just because it was holiday.
A tap on her window startled her and she looked up to see a man she did not know. His long hair and tattered clothes tugged at her heart but being a single woman sitting in a car in a deserted parking lot warned her mind.
“I can’t roll my window down, it’s broken,” she shouted through the icy glass, “and I am so sorry, but I don’t have any money to give,” she added.
He smiled kindly. “That is okay. I just wanted to help you…if you will let me,” he said
loudly back through the glass. She tilted her head to the side and looked at him in confusion.
As if he knew what she was about to ask, he added, “I would like to help you with your car.”
Her grew-up-in-a-group-home suspicious side went into high gear. She looked around trying to figure out where he had come from and how he could know she was having car trouble.
The car had never even turned over. Someone outside of it would not know she was having trouble unless…they had been watching her. Her fear began to rise up.
“That’s okay,” she shouted back as she glanced at the door lock on the other side, suddenly thankful her door couldn’t open. “I appreciate it, but I can handle it,” she said, knowing she needed to come up with a plan in case this went terribly wrong.
“It’s okay,” he shouted back. “If you will let me try, I’ve got this,” he smiled the gentlest smile she had ever seen. “Just pop the hood and I will handle it.”
She paused, searching his face for any chance he meant her harm as snowflakes fell around him. She played the scenarios through her mind and finally settled on letting him try.
Why not, she thought, as long as I stay in here and he stays out there. She nodded at him and popped the hood. Frankie watched as he disappeared and heard her car suddenly start. She gasped. She had not even turned the key. She watched him reappear and walk back to her window.
“How did you do that?” Frankie shouted through the glass, now wishing the window rolled down.
He smiled that same gentle smile. “I have my ways. You’re good as new, now you can go where you needed to go without worry.”
She turned, grabbing her purse from the passenger seat, “Here, let me give you some money for…” she looked up, but he was gone. What? Wait…where is he? she thought as she looked all around the car. Then she just sat there, listening to her car run better than it ever had, replaying the last five minutes. She finally shook it off, put her car in gear and drove to her pastor’s house.
She smiled as he opened the door and welcomed her in, showing her where to put her coat. “Sorry, I am late. As usual, life got in my way. It seems some days no matter what I do there is always an interruption. Nothing goes as planned.”
He laughed. “I know what you mean. I have those days too, but I just try to remind
myself that God does some amazing things with the unexpected.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, look at Mary, fairly sure finding out you are going to be a pregnant teen could have seemed like a pretty big interruption. But she showed us sometimes the things we never expected can bring the greatest joy.”
“Hmmm, divine interruptions,” she said as her mind drifted back to earlier. She followed him to the dining room, but suddenly stopped. She had seen lots of cars out front, but it had not registered until now. “Ummm, I’m sorry, I didn’t know all these people would be here,” she said to him as she started to shy away. “I assumed when you said family dinner you meant just your family.”
He smiled at her knowingly. “This is my family. See, every year those of us who don’t have family close or are just alone during the holiday come here and we celebrate together. Now it is your family too…during the holidays and always.”
Tears welled up as she thought about her ornament at home.
Now that was unexpected.
~~~~~~~
We love to challenge our members with a variety of writing prompts and contests. Stay tuned to future challenges--and enter them for a chance to get published right here on the SCWC website. (The best way to keep updated on writing challenges and other SCWC activities is to be involved in our Facebook group.)
And congratulations again to DeAnn, Grace, and Shannon.
Merry Christmas!
Comments