Merry Christmas!

Today's newsletter is filled with Christmas memories. There won't be a Utah Policy newsletter tomorrow, December 23, but we'll be back in your inboxes on Monday.

From me to you - have a very Merry Christmas and (whispers) - you don't even have to talk about politics. Now our stories:

Abby Cox, Utah's First Lady

My parents loved music and tried to teach us to appreciate all types of music and art even though we had almost no money to spend on attending any kind of professional performances.

One year, when I was about 9 years old my parents decided to save up all year to buy tickets for me and my 9 siblings to attend Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Ballet at the Capitol Theater in Salt Lake City-which was a 2+ hour drive from our farm Mt Pleasant.

For several weeks leading up to Christmas each morning when my dad got us up for school he would play the Nutcracker on the record player as loud as possible so we would have it in our head all day.

Finally the day came on Dec 26th. As a family, we spent the whole day together dressed in our Sunday best in the big city experiencing the lights, the music, the dancing. I was absolutely entranced and delighted. It has fostered my love for the performing art in all forms throughout my life.

My parents always sacrificed to make our lives better. And that’s what Christmas is all about.

Holly Richardson, Editor of Utah Policy

I remember the lights. I remember the snow and the blanket of peace that softly enveloped us the Christmas our daughter died. But mostly I remember the lights.

Our daughter Elizabeth was born one very snowy night, on Thanksgiving weekend. Seventeen years and two weeks later, she died on a bitterly cold December evening, 17 years ago. While the timing of her death was unanticipated, the fact that she would die relatively young was something we knew from the time she was born because of her multiple and severe disabilities.

One week after her 17th birthday, her body gave out and she was wracked with seizures that simply would not stop. Her doctor told us that this was the beginning of the end and she only had a few more days on this earth. We had hoped that perhaps “anticipatory grieving” would somehow lessen the blow when it actually came, but of course, it did not.

We had one more week with her in what I can only describe as a sacred, holy time. We were surrounded by angels, seen and unseen. That week, my husband, Greg, built Lizzie’s casket, with the help of a neighbor skilled in woodworking. I sewed her burial dress from bridal fabric and faux fur. Our living children all traced their hands on paper and then gave the cut-outs to another friend of ours who used her embroidery machine to embroider those handprints on the satin lining her casket so she could go surrounded by loving hands.

We held an old-fashioned wake in our home. Elizabeth’s body was in an open casket for those who wanted to pay their respects. Her empty wheelchair was parked in a corner with a placard I created that read, “Free at last, free at last.” After her funeral, we all followed the hearse to the cemetery, where, after the graveside service, we stayed to watch her casket lowered into the ground. Our family, especially our kids, needed that extra bit of closure. We blew bubbles in air that was so bitterly cold they froze before they hit the ground. It was one day before my birthday and eight days before Christmas.

Our family was blanketed with love that year. I couldn’t even think about Christmas shopping. Didn’t the world know my daughter had just died? Maybe the world didn’t, but our neighbors did. They shopped and wrapped and delivered Christmas for us that year. It was, even in grief, a season filled with light.

Senator Jani Iwamoto

The Christmas that sticks out in my mind is when my children were young. Of course it was cold outside, and my parents were with us. During those times, although they lived close by, they would sleep overnight so they could be with us when the kids woke up to see if Santa had come.

That year, my son was going back into his bedroom when he threw up. I went to clean it up and quickly felt the same symptoms. We were both so sick. What made that year so memorable and special was not that we were sick, but that I could hear my daughter, playing dolls and games with my parents. it was such a beautiful Christmas to just relax and spend focused and quality time together. I was not up to cooking a big meal and no one seemed to care - so we had scrambled eggs and the Portuguese sausage my husband brought back from Hawaii.

Fast forward to this year, which has been one of the craziest holiday seasons ever - leaving the Capitol and the accumulation of documents from my time in the Senate and on the County Council, saying goodbyes, trying to figure out what to give away, what to keep - even what to eat.

Since the pandemic, and because of many losses of dear loved ones, I have loved being more present, visiting with many who I don’t see often enough, and having gratitude for those that have come before us - this has been most wonderful and impactful to me. I feel blessed to have served in such a beautiful place, our Capitol, with colleagues and those behind the scenes who care so deeply for our beautiful state.

Aimee Winder Newton, Salt Lake County Council member, director of the Utah Office of Families

A few years ago, my son and I decided to be helpful by putting away our Christmas tree. Normally my very particular husband is the one to meticulously fold the limbs up and place it in the box. The following year when we got the tree out of the box, we noticed that the bottom third of the tree had its branches inverted - like an umbrella that has been turned inside out by the wind. Ooops!

We tried to repair the joints that were bent. We talked about simply replacing the tree with a new one. One year I industriously used zip ties to attach the lower branches to the upper ones to give it a hint of normalcy. Finally, we just left the bottom third in its new, distorted form and accepted it as is.

Interestingly, when you look at our tree from outside our house, you would never know anything is amiss. The bottom third sits below the level of the windowsill and from the road it looks like a fine and sturdy tree.

Over this Christmas season, I have contemplated the parable of the Newton Christmas tree. How many times do we look into the lives of other people from our street view and think everything looks perfect? We often have no idea about the challenges our neighbors and others are dealing with. We know nothing of the drooping branches in their lives.

To those who are on the inside of the home in this parable, I fear we are prone to an insecure mindset, at times, where we mistakenly believe that everyone else has a perfectly fine tree and ours is the only one that is deficient. We live in an age of relativism, constantly comparing ourselves to what others have, or what others look like, or what others do.

Some of our drooping branches are sickness and disease. Some of these will cause hardship, heartache, disability or financial strains. Some will result in death and leave families with empty and broken hearts. Some of our drooping branches are emotional challenges--failed relationships, estranged family or friends, depression or anxiety that leave us in a fog devoid of reason or safety in our own thoughts.

How glorious to know that the Savior knows the depths of our pains and struggles. He took upon himself the pain, sickness, sin and suffering of all mankind so that He could understand and empathize with each of us when those struggles come in our lives. He also paved the way for us to overcome all those challenges and weaknesses. With His help we can overcome our own drooping branches. May this Christmas season bless us with better understanding of our fellow humans, more grace for our own weaknesses, and a desire to receive the peace that Jesus Christ offers.

Amy Dott Harmer, Executive Director, Utah Refugee Connection

Several decades ago while I serving as missionary for my church, I waited patiently for the arrival of a Christmas box from home. December 20th came, December 22nd, still no box. I knew the holidays were busy for my parents. They owned a gift store and December was the busiest time of the year. The 23rd passed and still no box. All the missionaries around me had received boxes from home but still on the morning of the 24th nothing arrived. I convinced myself it was ok but inside I was disappointed. My mission clothes were getting old and my shoes needed replacing. My missionary companion at the time, who I lived with, could see my disappointment and indiscreetly opened her box from home. She kindly shared some of her treats and gifts.

Late the night of the 24th, when I had lost hope, there was a knock at the door and the postman with a box. It was for me from my family. As I ripped the package open in excitement, I saw stickers, bouncy balls, pencils and small toys. I was puzzled. As I dug a little deeper, I discovered a note in my mom’s handwriting. “Instead of giving YOU a Christmas, we thought we would give you a Christmas you could give away.” I wish I could say I loved the box of trinkets and the message but I was disappointed. A new shirt or shoes was what I wanted, not a box of small stickers and toys for others.

The next morning my companion and I set out to celebrate Christmas with the humble families that we taught and served in East Los Angeles. We loaded our pockets and bags with the stickers and carnival like toys my mom had sent. As we visited the humble apartments of the Latin Americans we served and taught, we shared the small gifts. To my surprise, the children loved the bouncy balls and stickers. For many, this was their gift for the day, as their parents struggled to make ends meet.

For the next couple of weeks we shared these simple toys that were now treasures to me. On a daily basis, when we entered humble, run down apartment complexes, the children would run to us and ask for stickers. They would play with us and introduce us to their families. We gained new friends and people to serve everywhere we went.

Little did I know that that year was a hard year for my parents. They were closing their beloved gift store that they had run for many years. They had put so much love and time into “The Dotted Line” but discovered that keeping it running was no longer financially viable for them. They had done their best that holiday season to keep things rolling but it was not enough to keep the store open.

This week as I packed up a Christmas missionary box for Sam, I felt my mom, who is now gone, reminding me what it’s all about. I cried as I loaded the small toys and trinkets into his box a taped it up. I hope he too will discover the true beauty and magic of this season.

Stan Summers, Box Elder County Commissioner

Most Christmases when growing up on a dairy farm consists of work and family. My mom made Christmas memories at every turn

A couple weeks before the holidays, Mom would start making cookies, candy, and banana bread, to go with homemade strawberry and raspberry jam, which would then all go into boxes, tied up with love.

Once the boxes were ready, we would all climb into the country squire station wagon - you know - the ones with real imitation wood paneling. My dad and mom were in the front, my sisters in the middle and then, facing the wrong way in the back, were me and my brother.

We were off like Saint Nick to deliver to Joe and Ethel Firth, Manuel Missrasi, Dave Thomas at the Cross X and others until there was just one box left. That box belonged to Uncle Gene Isaacson who lived up by our dry farm in the Bothwell.

Singing carols and laughing, we drove up the old dirt road to a lone house about 4 miles north from my grandparents house (where I live now). Gene's home was very small and in desperate need of a paint job. It was surrounded by a fence that couldn’t keep anything out, but it did keep Bob, Gene’s dog, in!

When we opened the gate, Gene cracked the door to say, "Geet down, Bob!" Bob the dog was jumping up and down, excited to see us, too. We filed into the house and waited for Gene and Bob to take their places - Gene in his chair and Bob at his feet. Gene's cigarettes filled the room and the cigarette butts lined up like soldiers on his TV tray, next to a box of cherry chocolates that looked like they were from his time serving in WWII.

We broke out in a carol which made him smile and a feeling of overwhelming gratitude filled the air. There might as well have been a manger in the corner because Christ was there with us as we exchanged boxes of goodies. We finished off the visit and headed out to the station wagon singing, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."

This time, Gene followed us to the gate, waving goodbye. As I turned back, I saw tears running down his cheeks, going in and around his 5-day old beard and weathered skin and my heart broke As we headed down the pot-holed graveled road, not much was said. We could hear Bob barking at us as if to say come back

I don’t remember much of what I got for Christmas that year, but I do remember that feeling that our parents gave us of the spirit of gratitude and love for all. Most of all, I knew then and I know now, it’s not about worldly gifts. Christmas is about the gift of our Savior and our ability in the next life to find each other. I know that Gene, my family and a host of others will be at the gate to open it with tear-filled eyes. Merry Christmas.

On This Day In History

1807 - US Congress passes the Embargo Act and President Thomas Jefferson signs into law. It prohibits American ships from trading in foreign ports, as result of involvement in hostilities between France and Britain
1882 - The first string of Christmas tree lights is created by Thomas Edison
1883 - Arthur W. Mitchell is born. In 1935, Mitchell became the first African American elected to Congress on the Democratic ticket. He served in the House of Representatives for Illinois over four terms.
1912 - Claudia “Lady Bird” Taylor Johnson is born. She was the First Lady (1963-69), an advocate for civil rights, National Chair of Head Start, and led “Beautification” efforts across the country involving environmentalism, conservation, and anti-pollution
1932 - "The Mummy" starring Boris Karloff is released in the US
1937 - The Lincoln Tunnel under the Hudson River opens to traffic
1958 - “The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don’t Be Late)” reaches #1 on the music charts.
1966 - Lucy Burns, American suffragist and women's rights advocate, dies at 87
1975 - US President Gerald Ford signs the Energy Policy and Conservation Act (EPCA)
1978 - John Wayne Gacy confesses to dozens of murders
1984 - Bernhard Goetz shoots four unarmed Black youth on the subway
1989 - Romanian government falls
2010 - The repeal of "Don't Ask Don't Tell” is signed into law by President Barack Obama

Wise Words

"God bless us, every one!"

—Tiny Tim

On the Punny Side

Who is the meanest reindeer in Santa's herd?

Olive.

You've heard the song.

"Olive, the other reindeer, used to laugh and call him names."