CURIOSITY
[Every Christmas since 1993, I’ve written a story for my Christmas homily. I do this in memory of a priest I was stationed with - Father
John Duffy. He wrote a Christmas story every year for his niece in Boston. I found out he did this - when he mentioned at breakfast
one December morning - that he had just
finished his Christmas story. I nagged him to see it and he finally let me read
it. Great story teller. Horrible typist. So without asking, I typed it up on my computer and told him any
changes would take seconds. We did that.
The following year he asked me to type up his handwritten copy of his latest Christmas story. It was about a dad trying to
get home to his family for Christmas in a snow storm. I did that. While typing
that story I looked out the window to see how high the snow was. There was no
snow. I realized at that moment the power of story. Then when he died - December 24, 1993, I decided to write a Christmas story in memory
of Duff. This is Number 26. Here goes. It’s called “Curiosity.” And every
Christmas - I’m curious what story will be born in my brain and how it goes.
“Curiosity!”]
He woke up that Christmas morning having had a strange
dream during the night before Christmas.
“Come to think about it,” he was telling me this years
after all this happened, “I hadn’t had a dream in years - at least - a dream that I remembered.”
Being curious, I listened. In fact, most of the time -
people don’t open up their whole life to total strangers in rocking chairs - in
nursing homes - but “Wait a minute,” I thought, “sometimes people do - so I
better listen. It sounds like this guy - still has his mind and his wits.”
I didn’t tell him that I was a retired brain surgeon and
also a behavioral psychologist. People had
opened up their whole lives to me - that was one of my jobs - but I really didn’t know this resident on
corridor C - between rooms 68 to 98 - in Blue Meadow’s Nursing Home - as he was
telling me his life story.
We were both old men - residents - widowers - with aluminum
walkers - spending the last few years of our lives here in Blue Meadow.
“Well, I’m curious,” I asked, “tell me about that strange
dream you had that night before Christmas years ago?”
He looked both ways - down the corridor and up the
corridor - and then he began - sort of
whispering. I turned my hearing aid up a
bit.
He began quite dramatically: “God appeared to me - in my
dream - well sort of!”
Silence.
He continued, “Now I wasn’t a big God person nor a small
God person. I was just a BMW car
salesman in Atlanta, Georgia. Most years I’d go to church for Christmas and
Easter - weddings and funerals - and at other times, sometimes. We didn’t have
any kids - sorry to say.
He paused ….
He continued, “My wife was killed in a car crash - not
long after we got married - and I was so devastated - that I never got married again.
She was the love of my life.”
“Woo,” I said to myself. “I’m rather new to this nursing
home. Is this what people talk to each other about in nursing homes: telling
each other about their lives?”
I didn’t know this guy yet.
He continued talking, “That Christmas Eve I had the dream.
It was around 3 in the morning - when Santa Clause was making his rounds - around
the world - and getting his chocolate chip cookies and cold milk. No wonder he
was a big boy. I guess God was also making
his rounds - putting a letter in my mail box - and maybe many others - in the
different ways God Bethlehems people.
“Relax,” he continued, “I’m not crazy. God
put a letter in my mail box. I heard the shuffle of paper in the metal slot on
my front door. It woke me up at 3 in the morning. I went down to the front door and saw this light brown envelope half
way through my mail slot.
“I quickly opened the door. It was cold - but not snowy
out there - and I looked up the street and down the street - and didn’t see
anyone. No cars were moving.
“I went back inside. I was in my bathrobe - slippers - and pajamas.
“I sat down in my living room Lazy Boy chair and looked
at the letter.
“I opened it up. Sure enough it was signed ‘God’.”
I asked myself, “Well, what do I ask for?
“I thought it was one of those jokes. It said, ‘I have
one gift for you this Christmas. But you have to come up with an answer to the
gift you want by 3 o’clock this afternoon - that is: Christmas afternoon.”
“Not having a wife …. not having kids …. what do I ask
for - whom do I ask?
“Well, obviously I
went to church that Christmas…. In a way
It was like going for the first time in
my life. I prayed to God for an answer to the question. ‘What should I ask for?’”
“I remembered hearing in church or somewhere - a long
time ago - about King Solomon - David’s son - who had the same experience. God
had asked him, ‘I have one gift for you. Ask for it and it’s yours.’ And
Solomon asked for the gift of
understanding.
“And God gave it to him….
“I wondered, ‘Is that what I really need? Understanding?’
“I kept thinking….
“However, the
word, ‘Curiosity’ kept hitting me - not understanding.
“I said to myself, ‘No way. Nobody asks God for the gift
of curiosity.
“But - I couldn’t shake that word out of my brain - and I
became very curious. Why curiosity? Why
should that be the gift I ask for?
“So that afternoon - at 2:59 - I said to God, ‘Curiosity. I want the gift of
curiosity.’”
Silence.
Pause.
He continued, “’Wait a minute,’ I asked myself. ‘I’m curious. It was just a dream. There was
no letter in my mail box - in real life - no letter sitting there in my living room - next
to my lazy boy chair.
Silence.
Then came more….
“I still asked God for curiosity - and curiosity changed
my life.
“My mom was still living. Funny, she was in a nursing
home. I found myself buying a small tape recorder and lots of yellow pads and
every Wednesday evening and for a couple of hours every Saturday and Sunday I
sat with her and together we wrote her life
- and my dad’s life - and the more we wrote - the more curious we became
and it brought my mom such delight that someone was dying to hear her story.
“I became curious about the Civil War and Sherman’s March
through the south and everything I could find out about Andersonville Prison
Camp in Georgia - and I found out we had a great-great uncle who was a guard
there during that horror.
“I became interested in God - God and science - and the
power of curiosity and faith.
“I made peace with the Problem of Evil and the Problem of
Cancer - and the Problem of people dying suddenly in car accidents - like my
wife. I learned that I had to deal with the Problem of Good - why is there so
much good in our world? Like split pea soup with tiny chunks of ham - as well as milk shakes and waffles and
volunteers. Oh. I volunteered to coach
Little League baseball and Midget football and I joined the local rescue squad.
“I wondered and became curious about questions like, ‘If
we were all blind, how would we discriminate? If we were all deaf, how would we
communicate with each other - besides using sign language? Is there something out there - still to
discover?”
“I discovered that curiosity could be a better gift than
understanding - because it’s the step before understanding. It’s the step that
leads to understanding.
Pause. Silence.
Then this other old man said to this old man, “Wait, I’m
talking too much? I’m curious about who you are. Who are you? What did you do for a living? How
did you end up here in Blue Meadow’s nursing home? Why did they call this place, “Blue Meadows?”
And I said, “I’m curious too, ‘Was that really a dream
about God giving you that letter that
Christmas Eve? Or do you think God says to everyone on the night before Christmas:
I have one gift I want to give you, but you have to figure out what it is, by 3
o’clock Christmas afternoon.”
