Before You Read The Story

Welcome! Or welcome back (if you have visited my Yellows Springs before)! The longer I write these stories, the more I find that there are many meanings and nuances woven into the fabric of Christmas. This year has been very difficult for so many of us, including the characters in Conestoga County (as you will read in this story). As Walden Ponders examines the meaning of Christmas, it reintroduces some people from yesteryears tales. I hope youll enjoy seeing them again.

A word of caution for those with younger readers in the family: this story touches on some mature, complex issues about which reasonable minds can disagree. I hope the inclusion of these issues will highlight, rather than distract from, the Advent message that has occupied my mind for quite some time.
May your holidays be filled with peace, and may you find time to ponder anew the mysteries of Christmas. - Bill
2009 William D. Kennedy 41 Birch Road, Malvern,PA 19355 kennedyw@whiteandwilliams.com

Bill Kennedy

n the second Saturday in December, Godfrey Swench fretted in the kitchen of the parsonage behind the Methodist Church. Balled up sheets of paper from his notebook pad were strewn on the floor.

Thats my point! Trudy interrupted. For Mary, the complexity of what had happened must have taken a lifetime for her to understand. Why not preach about that! You dont understand, Godfrey argued. I need simplicity. You know how on a shampoo bottle it says lather, rinse, repeat? Well, preaching is similar: proclaim, explain, repeat. Trudy offered, Why dont you go out to the Olde Fashioned Christmas celebration in the village today. Soak in the season. Maybe thatll help break your mental block. Godfrey looked at the crumpled paper on the floor and sighed. Youre right the fresh air will do me good. *** Down in the village, Mayor Chet Chinkup beheld the eight inches of packed powder covering three blocks of Main Street. I couldnt be happier, he beamed. Yeah, agreed Oliver Oxthorn, but it looks kind of odd snow in the middle of the street, with sidewalks and side streets that are bare, down to the surface. The roped-off road was a part of Conestoga Countys winter festival of music, games, sleigh rides, ice sculptures, carols, casseroles, concerts, and competitions. An earlyDecember snowfall set the stage for the Olde Fashioned Christmas, and for Main Street, Slippery Slopes provided what God had not (at least not after the roads were plowed). The ski area donated truckloads of artificial powder to link the mountain with the downtown district, ending with white carpet over three blocks. Later in the day, skiers tethered behind horses like a water skier to a motorboat would slalom around orange cones. As

Having trouble? asked his wife Trudy. Always, Godfrey admitted. Im working on my Christmas Eve sermon. He whined, Everyone knows the nativity story so well that Im having trouble articulating the true meaning of Christmas. Dont you mean the true meanings of Christmas? The meanings, plural? Trudy suggested, Your Advent messages have always revolved around a singular theme: Christmas is when God came to reconcile humanity. But out there, she pointed towards the window, in the real world of Yellow Springs, Christmas means many different things to many different people. Its a social celebration and a family holiday. Its a time for reflection, refreshment, relief, renewal, refocusing, and remembering. Christmas is when Immanuel the Jewish phrase for God with us slips from peoples lips in a song, then slowly filters into our minds! Trudy took a breath, then asked, So, what scripture are you working with? The story about how after the shepherds visited Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus at night, they began spreading the word. And then theres this confusing line, quoting from St. Lukes gospel, Godfrey recited,

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

Godfrey Swench arrived in town, however, another event was starting. Mayor Chinkup donned a silk top hat, stood beside a dense pack of cross-country skiers, raised a starters pistol, called On your mark, get set, and then fired a blank shot in the air. Crowds jamming the sidewalks cheered as the first wave of competitors slid through the snow-covered street. In temperatures that dipped below freezing in the woods, racers trekked 15 km out to Slippery Slopes and back to a finish line in front of Flegelhoffers Fair Value hardware store. The serious competitors would all cross the finish line under 80 minutes. Brent Brander, on the other hand, just wanted to finish ahead of his daughter. Months ago, Bronwyn had snickered when her father mused about entering the competition. Dad I dont think so. The cross-country race is for athletes. Hey -- I played soccer in high school. Yeah, but that was in the Stone Age. Cross-country is for young people like me, not for guys of your Of my what?? Brent interrupted. Of your intelligence, Bronwyn smiled. Nice try. Just for that, Im going to enter, and, he added, poking an index finger into her shoulder, my time will beat your time. Using staggered starting, the men in Bradys age group began five minutes after than the young women in his daughters division. Still, months of self-training on an basement exercise bike paid off. Brent finally caught up with Bronwyn on the ski trails leading into town, then his adrenalin kicked in. Godfrey Swench clapped as Brent crossed the line with a time of 1:47:27 fifteen seconds ahead of Bronwyn.

Godfrey noticed that Felix Flegelhoffer and his wife, Flo Ferrar were absent from the cheering throng at the finish line in front of his Fair Value store. They were at home, packing. This is the last Christmas Felix will spend in the farmhouse in which he was born and raised the house in which he raised his kids, and in which, just a few years ago, he and Flo held their wedding reception. But the farm property was too much for the senior newlyweds. Besides, Felix reasoned, we need a place of our own, a place we can forge our own new memories. Flo thought that at their age, it was hard enough to hold onto old memories, let alone creating new ones. Still, she thought Felixs idea was romantic. They had spent the fall hoeing through three generations of accumulated trinkets, treasures and trash. In the New Year, Flo and Felix will move into a condo in the Fallow Farm Senior Community. Felixs son and daughter didnt understand the decision. Floyd thought selling the family farm during this depressed market made no sense; Felicia couldnt imagine their father squeezed into a tiny townhouse. But Flos son Sam had made a good point: Our folks always stood by us, even when we each made some decisions that they werent very sure about. Sam was thinking about Floyds five-year stint as a bass guitarist in a Napa Valley wedding band; Floyd called to mind Felicias dangerous Naval career. Soon, the offspring all fell in line to support Flo and Felixs choice. And so, on Christmas Eve, the Flegelhoffers and Ferrars will gather for one last, nostalgic holiday before turning a new page in their hybrid-familys life.

Some of the crowd dissipated into the stores, antique dealers, and coffee shops along Main Street, but Godfrey followed others who milled through Martyrs Park, where temporary sheds, stalls, tables, tents, and tarps housed dozens of display booths for charities, specialty gift vendors, and service-sector salespeople. From overhead speakers wafted the sounds of Burl Ives singing Silver and Gold, while bankers pushed free key chains and pens, and household handcrafters hawked crches, earrings, scarves, and gloves. Danny Dauerditter displayed the dolls and trucks he made in his woodshop, while veterinarian Heather Hengrin handed out leaflets about holiday health for household pets. Deputy Miranda Wright strolled through the crowd, more out of interest in the festivities than to ward off wrongdoers. Miranda believes in the magic of Christmas, when charity abounds and malfeasance recesses. Miranda greeted the Methodist pastor as they both paused at the large gazebo in which the community chorus sang a mix of secular seasonal songs and cherished carols. Miranda smiled when she noticed Melsa Terry in the soprano section. It wasnt all that long ago when Melsa was a brooding, moody teenager and hostile to the holidays. But the years have sanded her rougher edges, and now, Melsa looks forward to Advent. Its the only time of year when she wants to sing.

napkins. From dozens of eclectic ideas, somehow, every year, it all comes together in a new painting. Sometimes, people ask Leisel where she gets her inspiration, or what a painting is supposed to mean. Shes even heard arguments among neighbors about whether certain images were drawn from their farms and fields. Perhaps because of that kind of reaction, Leisel has withdrawn from discussions of her artwork. She explained to her husband Dennis, Id rather just let the art speak for itself. Its less important to know why I drew what I drew; instead, each person can find their own meaning in it.

Evan Jay lEcole expresses himself differently and much more loudly. The Community Bible Churchs enthusiastic youth pastor gets under Godfreys skin, so he just kept walking. But to anyone else who tarried within earshot, Evan Jay lEcole proclaims an old-fashioned gospel message. Standing on an overturned milk crate, he uses the nativity stories as a preaching platform. Evan pleaded into a battery-powered bullhorn, Look at what Mary went through! A virgin conception, an estranged fianc, and banishment to live with a distant relative! Months of uncertainty, then weeks of travel to Bethlehem. Visits from sages and shepherds! And finally, after all that, as they leave the Temple, an old man warns that someday down the road, because of her child, great pain shall come to her!

In a corner of the park, Godfrey joined a quiet group gathered round a makeshift artist studio where Leisel Dauber wordlessly toiled with oils and acrylics. For over a dozen years, Leisel had produced a new holiday landscape that depicted an interpretation of the Christmas season. For many Yellow Springers, a Leisel lithograph print is a Christmas tradition. All year long, Leisel muses about the focus, context, lighting, and the message of her next Christmas image. She sketches ideas in a notebook. She jots notions on post-its and

Lenny Whitebrook heard Evans oration and shook his head. Sadly, he knows all about bearing today the burdens of a more difficult tomorrow. Shortly after the holidays, Lenny will layoff dozens of workers. Whitebrook Homes will close

all active operations, in hopes of maybe resurrecting once the economy rebounds. For more than a generation, Whitebrook Homes has built modest houses aimed at first-time, middle-class homebuyers. But the recession hit hard. Lenders wouldnt loan money to potential buyers, yet the banks that had loaned Lenny the funds to build the homes became intolerant of delayed payments. As Lenny walked through the Olde Fashioned Christmas, he bemoaned to Brady Brubaker, Its all so unfair. These people depended on us for their jobs for their income and their retirements. I know, Len. But we didnt cause this recession. And weve done all we can to forestall this. Lenny knew Brady was right. In mid-summer, the company stopped all new-construction starts. To make jobs last longer, they slowed the pace of construction on the any still-incomplete homes. They reduced everyones weekly hours. Lenny and Brady stopped taking any pay for themselves. They even dipped into meager personal savings to make the bi-monthly payroll. Now, however, it was clear that the company could not last any longer. All of their advisors told Lenny and Brady to cut their losses and lay off their employees right now, but they just couldnt bear to ruin Christmas for so many people. The bad news could wait a little longer.

destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too. Who but Mary could bear such a prophesy of future sadness?!?
Kathleen sighed. She knows all too well what it is to bear the conflicting prophesies of wonder and anguish. Nine years ago, before their twins were born, the doctor broke the news to Kathleen and Jed. Heidi Hewitt had explained that their daughter looked fine, but that their son would likely have Down Syndrome. Dr. Hewitt then predicted, He will require more than you think you can give, but he will give you much more back in return. For the rest of her pregnancy, Kathleen wondered, worried, cried, and prayed. The twins were still babies when it became apparent that her son Kris would be exceptionally challenged; it also became obvious that her daughter would be exceptionally bright. Krystal is articulate and gifted she is more than two grades ahead in math, she plays Mozart without sheet music, she dances in a professional production of The Nutcracker and shes very protective of her brother. Kris goes to the same school, but he supplements his regular classes with specialists who help him cope with learning and expression. He has had heart problems and he frequently has difficulty eating. At times, he has spent days, weeks, and even months in childrens hospitals. Even with fair warning from Dr. Hewitt and others, Kathleen could never have imagined what it has taken to raise two such physically, mentally, and emotionally exceptional children. And yet just as Dr. Hewitt predicted, they have blessed her far more than she has them. As Kathleen Krandle hears Evans sermonette about the prophecy given to Mary, she thinks perhaps she understands her a little better than she realized before.

Godfrey waved a greeting to Kathleen Krandle, who then slowed as she heard Evan Jay lEcole recycling his exhortation. Quoting St. Luke, the young preacher proclaimed, Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: "This child is

In the early afternoon, Walden Wegman excused himself from the ice fishing hut that housed his insurance agencys display at the Olde Fashioned Christmas. He hustled over to St. Wenceslas where Father Opus held regular, Saturday confessional hours. The sacrament is supposed to be anonymous, but Walden and Father Opus greeted each other warmly. Walden had been coming to confession on the same Saturday before Christmas for the past twenty-five years, each time expressing his regret and remorse for a something that happened when he was just seventeen years old. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. Its been one year since my last confession. Good to hear you again, Walden. Do you want to tell me your sins of the past year? Despite the prompting to talk about more recent issues, Walden always harks back to when he was in high school. He and Daisy Dauerditter had dated all through the year. In the summer, though, Daisy came to Walden with news that their passion had gone too far. I dont know what to do, she cried. They were young. They were scared, and they didnt know who they could talk to. Daisys parents were furious. They sent her to spend the rest of the summer with her older cousin, several hours away. In those days before email, cell phones, and texting, Daisy and Walden were limited to writing long letters. In one note that still burns in his memory, he responded to Daisys despair by telling her of a clinic that he had read about -- a place not far from where she was living. Go there, he had written, and our problem will be taken care of. Walden didnt hear from Daisy for a long time after that. She did not return to Yellow Springs when school began.

Many weeks later, she wrote him a cold, cryptic letter that told him their problem had been taken care of. As the realization set in, Walden regretted the advice he had given Daisy, but he never got to tell her that: she never came back and he never heard from her again. Every year since then, Walden went into the private confessional at St. Wensies around the time that his child would have been born. He expresses his remorse over what he had encouraged Daisy to do. When he was in college, Walden met people who told him they agreed with Daisys decision, and they explained why they disagreed with the churchs view. Walden respected those peoples views, but for himself, he still never felt that he had helped Daisy make the right call. Walden finished college, started selling insurance, moved away from Yellow Springs, got married, and became a good father to three daughters. No one knew anything about the secret he harbored. Nor did anyone understand why, on the second Saturday in Advent, he always came back to the parish in which he grew up, where he would enter the private booth and rehash his wrenching admission. Walden, Father Opus reminded him this year, you confessed, you made your penance, and God forgave you long ago. You are not the same person now as you were then. You need to forgive yourself, Walden. When you dont forgive yourself, you give pain a power over you. I know, Father -- I really do. And most of the time, Im okay. Its just that sometimes, Im so overwhelmed by it -especially during this season of the year. Father Opus knows Christmas can be a difficult season. He and Godfrey Swench conduct an annual, ecumenical Blue Christmas event on December 21st -- the day with the most darkness all year. Its a somber service of solace for those for whom the holidays are most difficult. Father Opus invited

Walden to come to this years service. Join us -- there are so many for whom death, divorce, job loss, or a medical diagnosis makes them uncomfortable with the joviality of the season. Walden said hed think about it. Father Opus wrapped up their session with words of absolution. The priest added, I recently met someone who I thought should meet; I suggested he could find you at your display booth at the Olde Fashioned Christmas today. Thanks for the referral, Father, Walden answered. Our business is way down this year, so Im happy to talk to a prospect. His name is Michael; youll know him if he chooses to stop by. Walden returned to his agencys booth. His partner Enzo Wrentz was hawking pamphlets and trinkets to anyone who stopped by. Glad youre back, Walden. There was a fellow looking for you here just a minute ago. I tried to find out what his insurance needs were, but he insisted on talking just with you. Hold it I see him over there. Ever hungry for new clients, Enzo trundled off to regain the young mans attention, nearly knocking down Godfrey Swench in the process. Enzo dragged the potential customer by the parka sleeve. Heres the guy youre looking for. Walden, this is Michael Feller. Walden shook his guests gloved hand, inviting him into the hut where a space heater would warm them. Some hot chocolate? Walden offered as he pointed to a seat. Thanks, Id appreciate that, Michael answered as he unzipped his coat and took off his hat.

Walden turned from his guest and poured two steaming mugs. Turning back around, he asked, You want some marshmallows in there or --. Waldens face whitened as he froze in mid-sentence. Before now, he hadnt really noticed the young mans appearance under the wool cap and scarf, but now he saw his face -- a familiar face a face Walden hadnt seen in twenty five years. Good God, he whispered, do you know who you look like? Michael gently took the hot beverage from Waldens hand and helped him sit down. Im sorry to startle you, Mr. Wegman. To tell you the truth, I really didnt know how I should approach you. I thought of calling, but I thought this is the kind of news best shared face to face. Walden stammered, Your eyes your nose your mouth all look like his voice tapered off. Michael helped him. They say I look like my birth mother. A woman named Daisy Hawkeye. I think you knew her by her maiden name, Dauerditter. Your birth mother? Walden struggled to understand. My parents -- Franklin and Frieda Feller adopted me at birth. I never had much interest in seeking out my biological parents. But then two years ago, my folks moved here, to Yellow Springs. I was already out of college and on my own, but recently, my fathers priest came to my folks house. He saw my graduation picture, and he said it reminded him of someone. When he found out I was adopted, one thing led to another, and we realized that my birth parents had lived here. I decided I wanted to meet you. Walden nearly shook with shock. He explained that as far as he knew, Daisy went off to the clinic and .

Michael made it easy on him. But she didnt, Mr. Wegman. She put me up for adoption instead. Walden looked more carefully into the eyes of his neverknown son. How can you ever forgive me for I mean, the way I encouraged your mother to. He dropped his head. Michael put his hand on the older mans shoulder. Mr. Wegman, I didnt come here to judge you for what you said or did long ago. And I already have a great family. So I just came to I dont know -- I guess, he paused, I guess I just wanted to start a relationship with you somehow.

While Godfrey feverishly transposed a flood of ideas onto paper, back in small ice fishing house in the far corner of Martyrs Park, Michael Feller and Walden Wegman talked for hours. Walden wondered how things had come to this, and his mind whirled with questions. What would his family say? What relationship would he and Michael have? Had something happened this Christmas that merely affected him, or would it fundamentally change who he was? No answers came to mind. Walden thought it would take time, perhaps a lifetime, to understand what had happened that Christmas. And so Walden treasured up all these things and pondered them in his heart.

Godfrey Swench wandered back home, his mind bustling with fresh ideas for what to share with his congregation at Christmas. He thought about the arduous cross-country race and realized that Christmas was about having the faith and determination to persist through the year. He considered how for Felix and Flo, Christmas had become the dividing line between old and the new. He mused about Miranda Wright and Melsa Weiss, and realized that Christmas is when believers believe more, and doubters doubt less. Godfrey reflected on Leisel Dauber, for whom Christmas is a chance to express in art what she cannot say in words. He tipped his hat to the fervor of Evan Jay lEcole, for whom Christmas is a springboard to talk about Jesus. His mind turned to Lenny Whitebrook, who saw Christmas as an island in a sea of failure beyond his control. He thought of how for Kathleen Krandle, Christmas is a season to consider the blessed mysteries of challenging children.