DO YOU HEAR WHAT I WANT TO HEAR?

"I heard the bells on Christmas Day"---I love that song, and wish every year that I could hear those bells. Where are they? Did the author hear them from the sky, on the street, or in his head? December has arrived, and with it, all the signs of Christmas. We are still in low gear, but the pace will quicken as time moves frantically towards the big day, but the little days leading us forward are worth noticing. Our street is lit up like a Christmas tree--lots of them, as it turns out. People seem to like our " white lights only" street, and they drive slowly up and down, gazing at our attempt to light the night with cheer, and elegance. The stores are decked out too, in all their holiday finery--and the only bells I hear are the sound of cash registers, ca-ching, ca-ching--- buy, buy. Then on the way home, I hear the Salvation Army bells, as they ring sweetly outside my grocery store----maybe those are the ones. They are saying "give, give"---a nickel, here, a dollar there, and every year an anonymous someone drops in a gold piece---atonement for the rest of our paltry offerings? I always wonder who gives so selflessly without wishing for or needing any recognition---a present day good samaritan, for sure.

The news continues to reflect a troubled world, where wars and talk of more wars have become common place. Good tidings? Not many this year. Add to the Christmas news stew a man by the name of Julian Salange, who fancies himself an heroic journalist with a lust to expose all the secrets that go on behind closed military and political doors, has chosen to publish private documents, which could in turn seriously weaken foreign relations everywhere. Of course, he claims to have only noble transparency in mind. But he cares not about the consequences---a little self serving man, attempting to become big by potentially sacrificing many. Unlike the anonymous donor, he craves publicity.

For now, the Christmas season reminds us that there is still reason for joy and hope for better times, and much of that hope lies within all of us. If you live in a small town, as I do, homeless people are not often seen, though we do have them. They are everywhere, and on a very cold night, recently, one of them in plain sight, froze to death. No one had stopped to help. People do not readily speak of their misfortunes . They are suffering silently, but sometimes you will see a sign of distress. Today as I stopped my car at a stop light , a young woman on the side of the road, with a piece of lettered cardboard held to her chest approached---the words said something about her daughter being ill. The light changed as I started to reach for my wallet, and so I drove off instead and glanced at the woman, embarassed that I had not found a way to help. I smiled apologetically at her as I drove by, expecting a scowl or worse. She smiled back as though she understood. That was the second time that day I had passed a person with a cardboard sign, begging for help----but the fear of strangers getting too close, and years of conditioning not to help those who appear able to help themselves, stopped me from stopping to help. I promised myself to find a way to go back soon and lend something besides a sorry glance. I was hearing no bells, only the sound of my own conscience---"you could have done better". There are people who do---I personally know someone who regularly goes out of his way to help a man who cannot help himself, and who welcomes a night in jail just to get a bed and a meal for one night. My friend stays in touch with this man, who is mentally ill, and offers support and a bit of money to get him by. When I asked my friend how he had happened to meet this needy, seedy person---he said, he had just crossed his path one day----and he stopped to help.

Last week, as I was walking, I heard an adult voice say "I like you". I turned to see a mentally and physically challenged woman speaking to another lady who was helping her up a curb. The helper replied, "Thank you, I like you, too." I don't know who seemed more beautiful at the moment, the helper or the helped, who was not too proud to speak words of affection. Those words were somehow, if not bells, the sound of Christmas , and they gave me a lift as I went on my way. Christmas is coming ---but it's already here all around us. Look for it everywhere and let it find you in unexpected places--even by the side of the road. Rejoice in the smaller moments. Stop or bend to help another. Do you hear what I long to hear-- above the hustle bustle, the over riding sense of aching to feel the joy, but not quite getting there? Over and beyond the bittersweet memories of Christmases past, the wishing for a cozy Norman Rockwell painting Christmas, the empty lonliness for people no longer with us, the sadness for all those so in need and seemingly beyond our reach? I strain to hear ,above it all , the bells of Christmas---clear, pure, and sweet, pealing truly good news and imploring us to listen---and to stop.

"I did what I could, what I had to do, what my conscience told me to do"
Oskar Schindler