Karen’s dad, my faith-in-law, Paul Koch loved, loved his grandkids. He was a caught-by-work guy, who essentially never stopped working, so afraid he was — of lacking meaning and of dying. He never released the financial oversight to his oldest daughter as he said he would do, but kept her in the dark on decisions, until it was nearly too late to share. But his grandchildren, they were gifts into his life, the light in the darkness, the hope in his world.
He made up nicknames for each of them, little playful phrases, “Grace is terrific, wow!” He’d say of our Grace. “Susanna is super, awesome!”
And with them he’d laugh like he couldn’t and wouldn’t laugh with anyone in life. His grandchildren accessed a part of his life he’d not accessed before, indeed, perhaps had refused to access.
Dad had lacked a childhood. Raised by harsh, unrelenting German immigrants who’d made their own way in this culture, he grew up bi-lingual, and without much play time. At 3 he’d almost died of polio and was left without the use of his right hand/arm so had to work harder just to be equal to others. Never an ounce of victim in his thinking. Dad was this amazing overcomer. Also, his childhood was filled with abuse which stole more of his childhood.
But to have his grandchildren became a vehicle of rediscovering laughter and joy and the kid inside of himself who never got invited out to play. Dates with their grandpa meant a trip to get a donut, a time to play in the park, or out to eat at some special restaurant.
But the favorite times were when he and grandma would come to the Christmas Eve service in Banks. The service was always fairly fun and predictable — and often the grandkids would be playing music beforehand or during.
But then afterward he and grandma would come over to the parsonage, we lived just a couple doors down from the church, for Christmas cookies, hot chocolate, hot, hot coffee for him and times around the table filled with laughter, story and fun.
One year, Grace, just back from Texas where she was living, launched into the retelling of the Christmas story all with a southern accent and Texas flavor. That was such a memorable time. Dad laughed so hard he couldn’t get a breath. Such joy exuded from his face. There it was— joy unceasing and full of glory.
In that moment I knew I was watching the beauty of joy come to earth, joy come into being anew. So splendid was the moment and so profound.
What might it take for us this Christmas to inhabit and experience this season anew? How might we enter and access the gift of such joy?
Mary knew what I’m talking about as she encountered the King’s earthly arrival. She was caught up with joy. Joy unspeakable and full of glory. My prayer is no matter what else is coming your way that you might also encounter the king in such a way as to bring you joy.