View From a Prairie Home

by Hege Hernfindahl, Columnist

This article is going to be right on schedule. New Year’s. When you read this, it will be 2023. Science fiction for old people. My grandfather, who died in 1980, was born in 1889. I remember him well. He was one of the safest people in my life. And he now would have been 134! I would not have wished that on him. But my son would have turned 43 this year and my son-in-law 46.

And, it being my new year’s article, I can also look back. People do that on New Year’s. The other day, I read in the StarTribune a Christmas story. It was very well written. Funny and lively and maybe even a little sentimental. I wished I could write like that. But then, I get published anyway, which is amazing!

And my mind drifted to stories. We all have them. The StarTribune had some kind of competition one year. They wanted Christmas stories. They had a very strict word limit. I wrote one about my son, Reuben, and his second Christmas when he was a little more than one and we came to Norway for the first time since we had moved half a year prior.  The first line of the story was “I woke up to the sounds of laughter.” It was about the joy of my parents’ interaction with their first grandchild and how much I had missed that. Amazingly it was published together with a bunch of stories by other people. This year’s story is very different.

We had the impending storm before Christmas to contend with. Our very thoughtful and kind daughter, Ingvild, called on Monday the 19th and we talked about our planned trip to Kasson. We decided to heed the National Weather Service’s warning and left on the 20th instead of our planned 23rd. We spent a week at her cozy home with her family and it was warm and even fun the whole time. When I howled with grief, I had arms and whispers of comfort. And we played board games which is a wonderful activity for a family bonding time. We laughed and lightheartedly teased each other. We watched tons of Christmas movies together and made fun of the plot and the actors, cheered on the heroes and hissed at the villains. My grandchildren laughed lovingly at me when I cried during romantic movies. There were multiple hugs and even dancing. So I know Christmas can be merry and happy. But that doesn’t come from gifts, perfection or money. It comes from love.

On Christmas Eve we drove the four blocks to St. John’s. The church bulletin had a painting of Mary and Jesus. You could tell they were not from Norway. The birth had just happened. Mary was partially naked, though modestly so. Jesus looked like a newborn with part of the navel cord still attached. Hands were reaching out to Him. Mary was crying through her smile.

At church, each person or family group was asked to come up after communion to the altar railing. There, the pastor gave us each an individual blessing. To us he prayed for peace. And, of course, there was the reading of scripture and lots of singing.

After church, we ate, and then there were the presents. Not many. Some funny. From Ingvild’s best friend, we got a card with another wish for us to have peace. And a promise that she would be our guide when we came to San Francisco where she lives. And then we played a game called Scattergories and laughed. The next day, I cried so hard, I got sick. But then we watched an old movie where we tried to predict the next episode of the plot.

The story of life is moments. Moments of sadness. Moments of peace and moments of joy. And, diffused with love, life, even after tragedy and trauma, is bearable.

Looking to the new year of 2023, I wish for you moments of peace and even joy. And, maybe you could share your Christmas story with someone.