Sixty-six years ago today, my parents were married. Christmas Eve certainly wasn’t an ordinary wedding anniversary, but it did make it easy to remember during their years together. It was a date of necessity, only because a justice of the peace was available to marry a score of war-time couples in Quantico, Virginia, shortly before the newly trained Marine officers were shipped out to the South Pacific to fight in WWII.
Now that they are both gone, when I look at their young faces in their wedding portrait, I imagine a hint of the impulsive decision that led to that wedding just a week before my father left for 30 months. They had known each other for over a year, had talked pretty seriously about a future together, but with my mother starting a teaching job, and the war potentially impacting all young men’s lives very directly, they had not set a date.
My father had to put his college education on hold to enlist, knowing that would give him some options he wouldn’t have if drafted, so they went their separate ways as he went to Virginia for his Marine officer training, and Mom started her high school teaching career in a rural town in Eastern Washington. One day in early December, he called her and said, “If we’re going to get married, it’ll need to be before the end of the year. I’m shipping out the first week in January.” Mom went to her high school principal, asked for a leave of absence which was granted, told her astonished parents, bought a dress, and headed east on the train with a friend who had received a similar call from her boyfriend. This was a completely uncharacteristic thing for my ordinarily cautious mother to do.
They were married in a brief civil ceremony with another couple as the witnesses. They stayed in Virginia only a couple days and took the train back to San Diego, and my father left. Just like that. Mom returned to her teaching position and the first three years of their married life was all in letter correspondence, with gaps of up to a month during certain island battles when no mail could be delivered or posted.
As my mother’s things are being moved following her death, their letters are now in a box in my living room, stacked neatly and tied together. I have not yet been ready to open them but will soon. What I will find there will be words written by two young people who could not have foretold the struggles that lay ahead for them after the war but depended on faith and trust to persevere despite the unknowns. The War itself seemed struggle enough for the millions of couples who endured the separation, the losses and grieving, as well as the injuries–both physical and psychological. It did not seem possible that things could go sour after they reunited following so many months of hardship to start their “real” lives. The expectations of happiness and bliss must have been overwhelming, and naturally, reality did not always deliver.
And so were the expectations in the barn on the first Christmas Eve. It must have been frightening for the parents of this special Baby, knowing in their minds but not completely understanding in their hearts what responsibility lay in their arms. They had to find faith and trust, not just in God who had determined what their future held, but in each other, to support one another when things became very difficult. It didn’t take long for that to happen: there was to be no room for them to stay in Bethlehem, she was a teenage girl enduring her first labor and delivery in a stable with no assistance from anyone, and later they became aware of a threat to the survival of their son requiring they leave the country.
When Mary and Joseph go to the temple for the circumcision and consecration of their son the following week, they allow a “righteous and devout man”, Simeon, to hold their baby as, moved by the Holy Spirit, he tells them the role this child is to play in the world. He prays over Jesus, saying to the Lord, “As you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.”
It must have been like looking into a crystal ball to hear Simeon speak, as we’re told “the child’s father and mother marveled at what was said about him.” But Simeon didn’t whitewash what was to come. It would have been easy to do so–just mention salvation, the light and the glory that will come to the people due to this little baby, but leave out the part about how His existence would cause division in Israel as well as personal rejection and anguish that He would experience. Not only that, but anguish will be His mother’s to bear as well. I’m sure that statement must have ended the sense of “marvel” they were feeling, and replaced it instead with great sorrow and trepidation.
Christmas is a time of joy, celebration of new beginnings and new life when God became man, humble, vulnerable and tender. But it also gives us a foretaste for the profound sacrifice made in giving up this earthly life, not always so gently. A baby in a manger is a lovely story to “treasure up” in our hearts but once He became a bleeding Redeemer on a cross, it pierces those same living beating hearts, just as Simeon foretold.
My parents, such young idealistic adults 66 years ago, are His servants dismissed from this life in peace, as was Simeon, having beheld and known their Savior. As I look at their serene faces in their wedding photo, I know those same eyes now behold the light, the salvation and the glory~~the ultimate Christmas~~today in heaven.