At whatever straws we must grasp, there is always a time for gratitude and new beginnings.
~J. Robert Moskin
It had been a tumultuous year for my three sons: new town, new house, new schools, new friends, new life. It was a time filled with adjustment, uncertainty and pockets of deep sadness. As our first Christmas approached, I was determined to give “new” a facelift. We needed a fresh outlook. We needed a new tradition—with an old-fashioned sense of warmth, togetherness, hope and awakening. I devised a plan.
Early Christmas morning, we donned our warmest gear and headed to the beach two miles away. It was cold, but the waking sun was brilliant. We parked our car, grabbed the cooler filled with hot chocolate and sweet rolls, and headed down the beach toward the rock jetty which hugged the entrance to the harbor. My plan was a simple one: to sit together on a rock overlooking the wondrous ocean and acknowledge the stunning gifts we are given—for free—each day.
My middle son, Peter, spotted it first: “Look, Mom, a flower!” he said as he ran down the length of piled rocks. Lying on its side framed in gray speckled granite was a single white lily—the flower of purity, grace and beauty. Peter picked it up and examined it as we all converged. “Where do you think this came from?” he asked. We looked down the length of the beach but saw no one.
We sat down in a circle, placed the lily between us, and marveled at our find. We were full of questions: “Who left it? Why? Were we meant to find it?” As we sipped our hot drinks, we talked of hope and the wonder of new beginnings. When a cold wind forced our departure, we placed the lily back on the rock and headed down beach, pocketing shells and sea glass along the way.
When we got home, we opened our gifts from under the tree. The usual fervor surrounding boxes and bows was quieted, however, by talk of the lily. Late in the afternoon, we surrendered our beach treasures to the center of the kitchen table, and with ribbon and a glue gun, made ornaments for the tree. We marked the back of each creation with the date and an inscription: “Year one. The year of the lily.”
Our beach excursion has become an annual Christmas tradition. Now, however, we bring our own gifts to the jetty. The day before Christmas, we head to the florist and we each pick out our own flower. When we leave the jetty on Christmas morning we find our own special rock on which to lay our blooms. As we amble back along the beach picking treasures for our new ornaments, we wonder who will find—and receive—our gifts of new beginnings.
