Holiday – noun\hä-le-da, British. Derived from the notion of “Holy Day.” The word "holiday" comes from the Old English word haligdæg. Originally referred only to special religious days. In modern use, it means any special day of rest or relaxation, as opposed to normal days away from work or school.
It’s that time of year again. Relentless aren’t they, the holidays I mean? How removed we seem to have become from that original meaning of “Holy Day.” As I sat in front of the fireplace with Kathy on a recent rainy Sunday afternoon, it was calm and peaceful, as she read a new book and I turned my attention back and forth between the muted football game to the crackling oak logs, often resting my eyelids between the two, for sweet long moments of nothingness. Why has it become so difficult to escape to rest and relaxation, those two words that were once so familiar to the soul’s wellbeing that they were known only by their initials of “R and R?” For me, solitude is refreshing, even revitalizing. When else can we be expected to hear that “still, small voice?” Not when we email, text or electro ourselves to somewhere or something else. It’s important that we take more time to think and dream; and do less answering and reacting.
At this festive time of year, Mr. Scrooge, it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute. This from someone I know – “On a recent Sunday morning, and I was late heading to church. My wife had gone ahead earlier, to teach a Sunday school class. When I took the exit from the freeway, there was a car pulled over with a black man standing at the back and a lady still in the car. I was already very late, and said to myself, ‘It’s busy here, someone will help them,’ but I stopped anyway and rolled down my window. He said they had run out of gas, so I told him to get in and I’d drive him to the service station. Once there, I waited while he filled a gas can and then I told him I’d take him back to his car. He looked pretty poor and I asked if he had any money. He said no, so I gave him some and dropped him back at his car. It wasn’t much, but I could tell it meant a lot, and he said, ‘God bless you.’ “Now the cool part. I got to church and looked for my wife in the sanctuary. But first, I looked up on the big screen where they had the day’s Gospel reading, which the preacher was reciting. I was more than a little amazed when I read along from Matthew 25 – ‘Then the righteous will answer him and say, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?’ And the king will say to them in reply, ‘Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’”
I just wanted to share. (Maybe running late to church isn’t always such a bad thing.)
At Thanksgiving I gave some of the names and aliases of friends and family who were with us. One of them, Mr. Arthur Murphey, I mistakenly called Arthur Bowen. I have known him for years, and he was kind enough to make light of my error.
Along those lines, I am reminded of a time many years ago when I was a struggling salesman at the firm of T. J. Raney and Sons. One day, I was opening an account for a man who had bought some municipal bonds from me. His name, which I’ll never forget, was Henry D. Schnell. I had him on the phone, filling out new account paperwork as he gruffly told me, “That’s Henry D. Schnell. That’s D…. as in Door. You got that?”
“Yes sir,” I replied, as I nervously wrote down “Henry Door Schnell” on his application; which made it to his confirmation, which made it to his mailbox, from where he promptly read that his middle name was now “Door.” Henry Door wasn’t as forgiving as Arthur and that was our last trade together.