Xmas eve in Manhattan

Last night was Christmas Eve and Peter and I attended mass at 10:30 p.m. at the church of the Epiphany. Granted my church does not cultivate the entertainment value of religion that some churches pursue, but we did have a harp, trumpet, flute organ and a great choir. Somehow this modest service just seemed right for us and we settled in to wait for midnight and the birth of Christ.

We sang many of the traditional Xmas carols and I was transported to my miserable childhood for a moment. As a family of communists, there was never any mention of Christ at our house. Being the youngest child it was my job to open my gifts and then hug the giver. This torture could go one for hours but I do remember one particular gift disaster. My sister in law Lonna, the wife of my eldest brother Gregory bought me a pink track suit. I love it and put it one and pranced around the house until my very cruel brother Michael called me a big pink tampon. Before I could respond my mother was on the phone to Lonna explaining that I hated the track suit. I remember Lonna was so hurt she never bought me another gift again.

Looking back now I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt, but when I reflect on this as an adult I can see I had absolutely nothing to do with this warped manipulation. I was definitely the victim here but as I reflect I am overwhelmed but the fact that this was a family unit void of God, this was a unit that functioned without the lessons of Jesus of the commandments of Moses, this was a family unit out of control, this was a family unit in which Christmas meant nothing other than eating, and giving and getting gifts.

I reflected on this and for a moment felt sorry for them- this miserable group of atheists. This miserable group who needed God more than anything else in the world had eagerly turned God away.

A Buddest friend once said that we pick the family we're born into. When I first heard this I was shocked and sickened. Was it possible that I picked the house of Holosko? What kind on a sick warped twisted mind could I have been to make that kind of decision? My Buddest friend however pointed out many years later that she was not necessarily referring to a genetic family. Finally the ideal of selecting ones own family made sense to me. I figure that the first pick was out of my hands but my second pick the house of God was definitely my choice. I figure that this Christmas and all future Christmases will always exist for me as a celebration of the birth of Christ not just an incident with a pick sweatsuit.

On this Xmas Eve I found myself in church. The daughter of a communist the child of abuse. I realized that not only was I worshipping, but I was creating memories for myself for the first time in my life. I was not allowing others to create memories for me. Memories ,which were such a painful thing for me suddenly became a thing to treasure . God was helping me create memories of love and this love was leading me to God.