Benediction - Scripture

"Crap, crap, and triple crap," were the words on Tisha's lips this fine Saturday evening. She was sick to death of Marbello Bay,
and California was more and more on her mind these days. Especially since the first snow fall last night. "I hate snow, I hate school,
I hate my parents. What's left? Whatever it is, I'll hate that, too."

After dinner, she informed her parents that she was going out for a walk. "I feel stifled in here. You guys have the heat turned up so high,
you'd think the two of you were in your eighties," she said to them. They both sighed. Their girl was a mystery as far as they were concerned.
Was she a changeling? She didn't take after either one of them, and they were way past trying to figure her out. They went back to their Bible reading.
Tonight it was Mark 8:24.

Tisha shrugged on her new second-hand black leather jacket, added a pair of suede gloves to keep out the cold, walked out and wandered toward Marbello's High Street.

Everywhere she looked there were, in her opinion, absurd Christmas decorations. "Get a grip, people," she muttered.
House after house garishly decorated with cheap convenience store lights; red, green, yellow, blue - pink for the love of...
Elves made of lousy recycled plastic stared stupidly at passers by, while pallid, ill-lit Santa Clauses leered from peoples' lawns.
At the corner stood a modern church, liberally festooned with banners braying 'The Good News!' In front of it was a god-awful nativity
scene with moulded shining figures. The babe in the manger happened to be, faux de mieux, a cabbage patch kid. Tisha recalled Mr.
Markles telling them about a line in an ancient Bob Dylan song that ran, "Flesh-coloured Christ's that glow in the dark."
Well, it was friggin' easy to see that not much was really sacred around here.

Downtown wasn't much better. Purple Christmas trees, white ones- every colour but natural blinked on and off incessantly on
either side of the street while the median boasted, if you could feature it, red and green reindeer hauling sleighs overladen with fake
Christmas parcels. These gaily wrapped boxes were about as empty as the season, was Tisha's thought. The flashing lights from
all sides made her head swim. She wondered if it were possible that she was having a seizure. She'd read about them at the library.
"Anyone suffering from epilepsy would be toast in this crummy environment." She paused to clear her head.

All the store windows bid Season's Greetings in harsh buzzing neon while at the same time enticing shoppers inside with promises of
10% to a whopping 50% off (on selected merchandise).

A thin, tinny keening sound passing itself off as 'Christmas Carols' made the air even more foul than it already was, what with the
fumes from hundreds of cars clogging the street. She turned to the store window beside her. Branton's Classy Men's Wear,
the sign proclaimed. In the show window stood a weedy looking mannequin sporting a powder blue tuxedo. "Real classy," Tisha sneered.
With a merry electronic jingle, the store's door opened and out stepped Shayne Fletcher, who, when realising he'd been spotted by Tisha, mumbled, "Damn."

"Shayne!" She looked at him with a saucy grin. "So this is where you buy your hip hop clothes." She pointed at the store window.
"I always thought you were way cool, but hey, Branton's?" She chuckled.

Shayne sighed. "No way, girlfriend." He held out a small Branton's bag (We Give Uniform Satisfaction) for her inspection. "Gloves for my dad,"
he explained. She examined the chocolate brown calfskin gloves and said, "Hey, they're nice."

Hopping from foot to foot, Shayne put in, "Say, it's cold out here. What say we stroll down to the Stardust for a coffee and maybe a - "

"A jalapeno burger, right?" she finished for him.

"Could use one," Shayne grinned. "Maybe two." They wondered off down Johnson Street to the Stardust Cafe. Once inside, all was warmth and charm;
good coffee, exotic spices, and candles wicking on paisley printed tablecloths made for a cheerful, if not a Christmas-like, ambience. Margaret Grymble,
Co-owner of the place, welcomed them.

"Well hello, you two," she chirped. "What can I get you?" she asked Tisha.

"A Large Colombian coffee," was Tisha's reply. Margaret turned to Shayne. "And how many burgers, Shayne?"

"I'll start with two," Shayne considered, looking serious. "And what's this pie?"

"Bumble berry?"

"Yup?"

"Three fruits, fresh out of the oven today. Lovely." She grinned at him.

When Margaret Grymble said one of her dishes was lovely, you were allowed to believe her. She and her English husband,
Nigel, prided themselves on being creative cooks. Their menus testified to this. Spotted Dick, Bubble and Squeak, and Toad in the Hole vied with rack of lamb,
osso bucco, and Thai and East Indian dishes. Their desserts were a byword throughout the town.

"I'll have two pieces of the pie." Shayne nodded decidedly. "Tisha, you?"

"Coffee's fine."

"So what's up for Christmas, Tisha?" Shayne asked her.

"Nothing. Christmas is just a pile of crap. For the third year in a row, I've refused the aged aunt's and uncle's invitation.
Every year, since I've been five years old, we've gone down the coast to Compton to spend Christmas Day with 'Bib and Bob' Mosely.
A couple of prize turkeys, those two. My parents are going of course, on the futile expedition. It's pathetic."

"So, you're not having Christmas dinner?" Shayne was astounded. "You'll be by yourself at Christmas?"

Tisha nodded, and sipped the excellent coffee.

"Well, look here, you come to my folks on Christmas Monday. There's always heaps of food, and I...and they would love to have you there.
Now, before you say no, say Yes!"

Tisha pondered a moment, "I don't really do Christmas, but, well, you'd better ask your parents about it first, and then we'll see."

Shayne was delighted. "You bet! But I just know Mom and Dad will be happy as heck."

A bit later, Shayne, filled to the brim with Margaret's cooking, paid the bill and saw Tisha off at the bus stop. "Give you a call," he called, getting on the bus.
Tisha waved, debating whether to wait for her bus or walk home. She decided to walk. The evening wasn't too cold and she was warmed by the coffee and Shayne's company.

The blocks passed by as she wound her way back home. Strange, but her mood felt less bleak than it had on her way out.
At the corner of Pine and North, she paused in front of a Christmas tree lot. Late though it was, there was a good deal of business going on.
At least a dozen people were walking out with trees, and it looked to Tisha like a great grove of Christmas trees dancing.
She thought of the play 'Macbeth' that they had just studied. Birnam Wood? "Weird", she thought. She lit a cigarette and watched as a man, his young son in tow,
bargained with the proprietor for a small, ragged tree.

"Twenty dollars, and that's my last price." The owner crossed his arms.

"I can give you fifteen," pleaded the man, glancing nervously at his son.

The young boy stood there, turning around with a smile on his face. "Papa," he said. "I can smell the trees." Harried shoppers carried their trees out of the lot.
To Tisha, it just seemed to be a great crowd of walking firs. The lad continued, "I feel the trees moving around me."

"Please," the man crowded in on the seller. "The boy is blind. A tree will make all the difference to him." He looked sad, poor, and desperate.

"That's nice," the owner didn't budge. "The price is twenty dollars."

Tisha stared at the scenario, a frown on her face. She had thirty dollars in her pocket that she'd been saving for a new second hand pair of boots. Frig Christmas!
"The poor little guy," she thought. It just wasn't right. She strode across the lot and planted herself in front of the group. "Okay, let's settle the deal."
She glared at the seller. "Here's twenty bucks." She held it out. "Now. Give him the damned tree." The man stared at her, and accepted her money.
"By the way," Tisha looked hard at the vendor, "You are a right shit. And, I'll be sure to tell everyone about this. You won't sell many trees here again,
not if I have anything to say about it. Wanker."

The seller grunted, pocketed the bills, and waddled off to his trailer. The man looked at her in wonder.

"I'm from the church," Tisha explained. "It's what we do." She walked off. As she went she heard the little boy saying,
"Papa, the tree is singing to me!" His father whisked him up from the pavement and said, "At Christmas, the Angels come to help us."
The little boy buried his face in his papa's collar. "Bless the angels, bless this tree, and bless the good lady."

Tisha made her way back home feeling better than she'd felt in months. She had no idea why.

Prayer:
Lord, it's your Birthday.
Your special day.
And yet how quickly we can forget.

So many Gifts and Cards.
So many Parties and Visits.
So many Family and Friends.

We quickly find ourselves,
In a flurry of activity.

Help us to slow down,
To listen to the snow falling.
To watch the clouds drifting.
And breathe a soft prayer.
In thanksgiving for your life.
And for your love.
Amen