If you read my post from last week, you know I had a stroke in 2004. In the days immediately following, I struggled to regain short-term memory. I was also physically weak and depleted from a week-long hospital stay and attempts to regulate both oral and IV blood thinners.
My dear husband had called everyone we knew to ask them to pray for my recovery—particularly our trip from Colorado back to Texas. The doctors insisted we stop every couple of hours to let me walk around; I didn’t need any more blood clots forming!
When we arrived home, I had waiting for me the greatest, non-spiritual Christmas gift I have ever received. Our close friends, the Mases and the Arledges had secured our house key from my parents and gone into our home to put away all of our Christmas decorations! Can you imagine a more profound labor of love? (I mean besides being a surrogate.)
We walked through that front door and an immaculate home greeted us, no trace of tinsel, no hint of holly, no sign of Santa . . . anywhere. These dear friends had even bought red and green containers (something I’d always wanted but been too cheap to buy for myself) to house our ornaments, stockings, and Christmas lights. They labeled everything and stored it back in our attic.
Not only could I have not done a better job myself, but that particular year I couldn’t have done the job at all. These friends stepped in to help in a practical, tangible way I’ll never forget.
That’s my Christmas storage story. And I’m sticking to it.