“The RoseBouquet”

Every year, the first or second Sunday of December, there is a Carol Festival in our local school gym, put on by four participating churches. I always look forward to this. Some years each church has a choir practiced up, or sometimes they have smaller singing groups, even the school prepares a children’s choir. This year they tried the mass choir idea again.

The turnout was not so good, so I suspect people like to come hear their own family members in a particular choir. Personally, I thought the mass choir idea was good in that there would be less of a spirit of competition, and more cooperation.

Anyway, I often end up sitting beside someone that I haven’t talked to for years, or have never met before. This time I was beside a nice retired lady, who was friendly enough to ask me some questions. She saw that I was taking notes, and asked if I kept a journal. I assured her that I do, but this was simply so I could email some friends abroad about this service.

She mentioned that she always records highlights at the end of the day, and if the weather has been unusual. I told her of my Gran’ma Kroeker and her mother’s step-mother’s journal (both of which I have translated), and that they used to do that too. “But,” I said, “I myself just jot down three blessings of the day before I turn out the light at night.”

“What if something bad has happened?” she asked.

The service was about to begin, but I quickly whispered back, “Then I ask myself, what’s the blessing in this?”

Joyce, the choir director, had told me in advance that there would be an opportunity to come join the choir at the end to sing the old German/Dutch Christmas anthem, “Der Friedensfurst.” (The Prince of Peace). I love that song. It is always sung at the end of our Christmas Day service in our church and anyone may go up to participate, so even though few others joined us, I went up and sang as heartily as I could with the choir. It felt great. Now the Christmas season has officially begun for me.

Afterwards in the hall as we were heading for the door, I asked this lady her name. Turns out she’s the mother of one of the fellows I went to school with years ago. I’d forgotten his first name, but she said it was Roger.