Time For Another Dispatch...

Dispatches From the Edge & Other Stories From The Margins: A Christmas Story

Well, here we go again. No sooner do we say goodbye to Uncle Stewy and Aunt Ruth after an evening of Thanksgiving overstuffing does the Grand Poobah of the holidays, Christmas, show up at our front door. And by the time December settles in here in Cedar Creek, the town has already begun behaving like it knows it is being watched. The lampposts wear wreaths, the hardware store window fills with tin angels and extension cords, and even the grumpiest townsfolk seem willing to tolerate a reindeer sweater.

Harvey Callahan notices these things because noticing is part of his job. He has been a licensed social worker for many years now, which means he once, though it feels to be a lifetime ago, sat in classrooms alongside future engineers, accountants, teachers, and nurses, all of them paying the same tuition (save different lab fees) and wondering if adulthood would feel as serious as everyone promised. Harvey passed all his exams, earned his license, framed his diploma, and then discovered what many social workers discover quietly and without ceremony. The paycheck arrived. And though it was polite and, indeed, was sincere. It was, without a doubt however, not especially ambitious.

This becomes particularly noticeable to Harvey around Christmas.

Harvey’s wallet feels thin this time of year. Not alarmingly so. Just thin enough to remind him of itself every time he opens it. Thin enough that he pauses before buying things his father, a lifelong salesman, would not have thought twice about. Gas. Milk. The cereal box his kids like because it offers a free looney-spoon inside and because the mascot on the box looks like it understands them.

Harvey has three children whom he adores. Sarah has said that she wants a watercolor paint set for Christmas this year. Jack wants the new Robo-Changer toy that its cartoon counterpart sold him so well this season.  And little Jimmy wants what all the kids at school have been talking about this year: the new Nofriendo video game system, which promises slightly better graphics than the last system they pushed out five years ago. Harvey wants to give them all the quiet assurance that everything will be fine, which is a thing parents learn to deliver excellently even when they are not completely convinced themselves.

At the agency where Harvey works, it’s the licensed social workers who tend to hold the higher positions. Supervisors. Directors. The people whose signatures appear at the bottom of important emails. And it makes sense. Credentials matter. But Harvey also knows what that structure means, too. Because if a licensed social worker at the top feels the pinch of December, then the people working under them feel it even more keenly.

The frontline workers are the ones who know what this this season asks of them best. Case aides. Shelter staff. Outreach workers. Peer supporters. The people who work closest to the sharpest edges of other people’s lives. They are the ones who sit through the long nights, who hear the daily stories that refuse to be resolved, who learn the difference between listening and fixing as they assess how best to triage the amass of felt need by those they serve. Their paychecks are thinner still, and yet their commitment does not waver. If anything, it settles in deeper, like frost in the ground.

Everyone in the social service field, no mattrer where you work, joke about it, of course. They say things like, “Well, nobody does this for the money,” and everyone laughs because it is true and because it has to be. But the simple, honest truth is that life costs money. Rent does not accept sincere hearts as payment. And Christmas does not arrive with a sliding scale.

Harvey thinks of Maria, one of his clinicians, whose car sounds like it is arguing with itself, but shows up on time every morning anyway. Or DeShawn, who works nights at the desk and still packs lunches for his kids. Or Ellen, who keeps her hands in her pockets because she couldn’t buy gloves for herself before her own children were outfitted for winter.  

On his way home one evening, Harvey stops at the more than a dollar store on Main Street. There, he finds Sara’s watercolors. He holds them longer than necessary, weighing the price against the look he knows will cross Sarah’s face. He puts them in his basket. He then finds the Robot toy there as well. Although he could only find the purple and green Robo-Changer, not the red and blue one, Jack has been talking about it recently. Then Harvey walks over to the electronics department and asks if they have the new game system that is on many a Christmas list that year. Fortunately for him, they had two left in stock. Havey opened his wallet to make sure he had the two-hundred-dollar gift card he received from his health insurance a week ago for participating in their nine-month health and wellness initiative that paid real money for his time and attention. He knew the extra money would help with Christmas this year, and so it has. When Harvey found the gift card and made the purchases, he smiled. Harvey did it. He was able to come through and be a Christmas hero to the people who mattered most to him. And that mattered.

At home, the tree was lit. Soup was simmering. And his children greeted him as if he had returned from a much longer journey. The rest of the evening folds in on itself the way good evenings do. With rest, and snuggles, and a little laughter.

Later, when the house had gone quiet, Harvey thought of the helpers who were still on shift, then of the rest of his staff. He thought of everybody who will do it all again tomorrow, and his heart swelled as he thought of them, these caring men and women, these midnight angels, these unseen and unacknowledged heroes of our community. People who show up to serve others without much fuss.

Then he says a prayer.

Lord of loaves and fishes,

You who know how to stretch what feels impossibly small,

Be near the helpers tonight.

Be near to the ones who serve quietly,

Who carries other people’s worries home in their hearts.

Lord, warm their houses.

Steady their hands.

Remind them that their work matters,

Even when it goes mostly unnoticed.

Let this season bring rest where there is weariness,

Enough where there has been a lack,

And hope that stays,

Even after all the decorations come down.

Amen.

Outside, the snow kept falling, doing what snow does best. Inside, Harvey’s family sleeps, their table is cleared, and tomorrow waits patiently. Christmastime, it turns out, has a way of finding people right where they are.

Well, that’s today’s dispatch, from the dusty places, and the far off corners, keep the faith, friends, and pass it on!