Neighborhood Christmas Tradition

Neighborhood Christmas Tradition

Mosley Truck at Christmas

 Whenever my family and I turned onto our road at Christmas, our first sight was the decorated truck with a Christmas tree in the driveway of the first house in our neighborhood. There was something magical about the scene, as we all felt an inner warmth of love that we could not explain.

It re-centered us from stress to inner love and appreciation of this "Christmas card" our neighbors offered our street. Then, when we stopped seeing it at the holidays, we missed it. We even bought plates and glasses with the lighted Christmas tree on a truck, but it wasn't the same.

 After several years, we recently received our neighbor's explanation to our neighborhood

Guest Writer:

 A note to our neighborhood from Kent Mosley
Subject: Laurie Mosley from Kent Mosley

Laurie

"My wife Laurie passed away on May 6th.  She had been battling an illness for a long time.  Although her pain and worries are over, I miss her. After we had lived here on the corner together for our twenty-five years of marriage, I thought she deserved to be mentioned in the history of our street.

If anyone remembers the old blue truck we decorated in the front yard at Christmas time, it was her idea. I know if you lived here in those days, twenty-five years ago or so, you will remember. She went with me to cut down the first fourteen-foot cedar tree. She was in charge of decorating, ensuring the wheel light spun in the right direction, and that all the truck's lights were in the right place. She made sure the lights and Christmas balls were hung just right on the tree.

So, this is just a note "to say a thank you and prayer for Laurie Mosley" if you ever enjoyed the "ole blue," all decorated in a Dr. Suess-style Christmas Celebration. Our first year was definitely the best.  After a few more years of setting up, I just got a little old to cut down a fourteen-foot cedar tree on my own, and there were fewer and fewer places to find one nearby. So, I apologize for letting that slip away, as memories do. But let it be known Laurie was the artist, the inspiration, the taskmaster until it was done right."

Kent & Laurie.    NW corner of our neighborhood.

I will never forget how a grieving husband honors his wife and our neighborhood by sharing this extraordinary Christmas story with us, and we now share it with you.

Joanna joannaseibert.com

Remembering Joy from those we loved and see no longer

Remembering Joy from those we loved and see no longer

“But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment will ever touch them.” Wisdom 3:1.

 My experience is that those who have known the death of a loved one around Christmas may find the holidays not always a joyful time in their memory. So today, I remember my brother again, and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who died on Boxing Day in 2021 at age 90.

I have written about my brother, who died in December eleven years ago in 2014, on Boxing Day, the second day of Christmas. He died four months after his 70th birthday, almost precisely at the same age as our father died. My brother was born on Labor Day and died on Boxing Day. We will have to work on the significance of all that. Boxing Day is traditionally the day after Christmas when servants in English households receive a gift from their employer in a “box.” Of course, Labor Day honors those working and gives them an extra day of rest. I do know Jim loved Christmas. My brother also died on the day our church calendar commemorates Stephen, the first deacon and martyr. I don’t know about a martyr, but my brother was a survivor. He had open-heart surgery, three cancers, and at least three strokes.

cousins

I did something I had never done before shortly after my brother died. I prayed to hear what he would like us to know about him. This message immediately came to me that my brother said:” I tried to be a good man, and I loved my family.”

“I tried to be a good man and loved my family.” So that was my brother’s message. He dearly loved his family and was very proud of his three sons. He loved his community, serving faithfully as a banker, a Boys and Girls Club member, and on the school board. I know he especially loved his church, where he also served faithfully.

Since the Episcopal Church is something we share, we often discussed it. However, we had the privilege of serving together at an altar only once. That was at our mother’s funeral, when we both served as Eucharistic ministers, passing the chalice. 

My brother was an eight o’clock churchgoer. They are a different breed, a little more private, quieter, and sometimes more reserved. They get the rector’s ear after the service, since so few people are present that early. My brother loved serving on the vestry, another rare breed. If an eight o’clocker is a lector or Eucharistic minister, they serve more often than those at the later service, as my brother did. I tried to talk my brother into becoming a deacon, which I think could have happened if he had more time. The church is in our family’s genes. It comes in many forms, but we cannot escape it.

Seiberts at my brother’s service

My brother was a believer, and there is no doubt that he now lives in the resurrection, just as he experienced so many resurrections in this life.

So today, I am sharing some memories of my brother, my only sibling. I miss him daily, especially on the holidays.

When we were children, I remember how we would wake up in the early morning, too excited to sleep and lie together in bed, hoping by some miracle that our parents would wake up early. He so loved Christmas. I honor him by sharing Christmas stories about him and celebrating the holiday as he loved to do. He always brought joy to my life, and I hope to continue sharing that joy, especially at this time of the year. Sometimes, when our family shares stories, I hear his distinctive laugh caught up in others, and I give thanks for our life together with him in our family.

Joanna. https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Gesu Bambino on Boxing Day

 Gesu Bambino on Boxing Day

“Upon a winter night,

Was born the Child, the Christmas Rose,

The King of Love and Light.

The angels sang, the shepherds sang,

The grateful earth rejoiced.” Frederick Martens, music by Pietro Yon (1917)

My younger brother and only sibling died in 2014 on the day after Christmas, Boxing Day, or the Feast Day of St. Stephen. I still miss him.

On a past Christmas Eve, as I prepare in the early morning to go to the eight o’clock service, I hear on our National Public Radio Station (NPR) a piano arrangement of Gesu Bambino. This is an Italian Christmas Carol with O Come All Ye Faithful for the chorus, with the music written by Pietro Yon and the lyrics by Frederick Martens. 

Suddenly, I feel my brother’s presence. My brother sang this solo at a Christmas program when he was ten or eleven in the basement of the Baptist church in our hometown, West Point, Virginia. He was taught Gesu by the minister’s son, Bobby Pleasants, an organist and my piano teacher. I wonder where he is now. I thank Bobby for the gift he gave me today by teaching my brother to sing this ethereal Christmas anthem so many years ago. I see and hear my young brother singing like a cherub in the candlelight, lifting his head and eyes as he strains for the high notes, singing with all his might.

This is a Christmas gift from my brother. He was physically powerful, while I now have numerous mobility issues. On that particular Christmas Eve, we had four services at St. Mark’s since this was a short Advent, with the fourth Sunday of Advent and Christmas Eve falling on the same day. I was concerned about whether I could physically serve as the deacon at all these services, which would attract almost a thousand people. However, that morning, I was empowered. I felt my brother’s strength beside me. I did not doubt that I could do this.

On this second day of Christmas, I pray that each of us is empowered by God’s love as manifested in those before us whom we love and love us so that we can do the ministry God calls us to do.

Love is born at Christmas. It is gifted to each of us. That love never dies.

Joanna     https://www.joannaseibert.com/