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December 16th, 2014 - I was walking upstairs to the kitchen when my brother, Jacob, stopped me and said, “We’re not doing Christmas this year.” My heart sank as a sea of confusion swept over me. “What do you mean?” Jacob looked back down at the stairs. I could tell he was furious. “Talk to mom.” It was true; Christmas at the Brown’s was perpetually doomed: we weren’t doing presents.
Even at the mature age of seventeen, I strongly believed Christmas was pointless without presents. What were our extended family members going to think? Mom really wanted to tell stories instead of doing presents, and I secretly knew it was because we didn’t have the money for it. We lived comfortably, but our family’s financial situation seemed to oppressively hang over our heads. I felt like they were trying everything they could to hide their guilt by coming up with this storytelling stunt. Mass pandemonium, riots, and revolts broke out all over the Brown household. I refused to discuss the “No Present Christmas” and found other activities to distract myself. We ceremonially threw away our Christmas lists.
There was another reason as to why were were telling stories this Christmas. Mom and Dad had been attending the Seattle School of Theology and Psychology under the direction of Dr. Dan Allender to experience and learn about the power of story. I knew it was bound to happen; they were going to come home one day and enforce a new custom in our house based on something edifying they had learned. It was finally happening. My parents had formed, Gen225, a story-based ministry two years earlier, and we were always learning something new about our emotions, brain chemicals, and sometimes even unresolved hurt that was buried deep in the past. There was never a dull moment in the Brown family. I wasn’t the least surprised when they announced the “Story Christmas” news. From what little I knew about “Story Exploration,” as they liked to call it, the beginning was grueling heart work. However, there was one thing I knew was true: Mom and Dad had been much happier lately.
I made up my mind… if we were actually going to do this Story Christmas, I was going to write the best story there ever was. I thought to myself, “What is something my family doesn’t know about me?” I dug out a crumpled up piece of paper from my desk. The poem was titled “The Princess Who Played House”. I was the proudest of this poem. I had written it at 15-years-old during months of depression. I sat on the edge of my bed and re-read the masterpiece. Tears sprung to my eyes. I decided to read this poem on Christmas morning partly because I didn’t want to have to write something new and partly because I knew this would totally knock everyone’s socks off.
It was Christmas morning and the Brown family household was in an uproar. Mom had said that story time was to be at 10am. It was 10:45 and everyone was finishing up writing their stories. Jacob had expressed concern about his story earlier that morning. He came up to me and said, “I’m a little nervous that Mom and Dad won’t like my story. I feel kind of awkward about it.” Josiah, the youngest, muttered, “Yeah, me too.” I didn’t really know what to say; I was nervous about my story too. Finally, we all sat down in our pajamas in the living room with our freshly printed stories in hand. I got the feeling that no one really wanted to be there. We sat around the room in awkward silence for a moment, when finally, mom said, “So…who wants to go first?” Something came over me, and I reluctantly said, “I’ll go.” I looked down at my paper as I sat next to the half-lit, bare Christmas tree, and started reading. I got to the end of the poem and read,
There was another reason as to why were were telling stories this Christmas. Mom and Dad had been attending the Seattle School of Theology and Psychology under the direction of Dr. Dan Allender to experience and learn about the power of story. I knew it was bound to happen; they were going to come home one day and enforce a new custom in our house based on something edifying they had learned. It was finally happening. My parents had formed, Gen225, a story-based ministry two years earlier, and we were always learning something new about our emotions, brain chemicals, and sometimes even unresolved hurt that was buried deep in the past. There was never a dull moment in the Brown family. I wasn’t the least surprised when they announced the “Story Christmas” news. From what little I knew about “Story Exploration,” as they liked to call it, the beginning was grueling heart work. However, there was one thing I knew was true: Mom and Dad had been much happier lately.
I made up my mind… if we were actually going to do this Story Christmas, I was going to write the best story there ever was. I thought to myself, “What is something my family doesn’t know about me?” I dug out a crumpled up piece of paper from my desk. The poem was titled “The Princess Who Played House”. I was the proudest of this poem. I had written it at 15-years-old during months of depression. I sat on the edge of my bed and re-read the masterpiece. Tears sprung to my eyes. I decided to read this poem on Christmas morning partly because I didn’t want to have to write something new and partly because I knew this would totally knock everyone’s socks off.
It was Christmas morning and the Brown family household was in an uproar. Mom had said that story time was to be at 10am. It was 10:45 and everyone was finishing up writing their stories. Jacob had expressed concern about his story earlier that morning. He came up to me and said, “I’m a little nervous that Mom and Dad won’t like my story. I feel kind of awkward about it.” Josiah, the youngest, muttered, “Yeah, me too.” I didn’t really know what to say; I was nervous about my story too. Finally, we all sat down in our pajamas in the living room with our freshly printed stories in hand. I got the feeling that no one really wanted to be there. We sat around the room in awkward silence for a moment, when finally, mom said, “So…who wants to go first?” Something came over me, and I reluctantly said, “I’ll go.” I looked down at my paper as I sat next to the half-lit, bare Christmas tree, and started reading. I got to the end of the poem and read,
“The Princess said in a tone, as sorrowful as could be,
‘Who wouldn’t think of Heaven when you’ve lived a life like me?’
I replied, ‘It’s not healthy, not right! You simply must change!’
Yet just as the Princess rose with grace to fetch some tea,
I woke with a start to realize that ‘Princess’ was me.”
‘Who wouldn’t think of Heaven when you’ve lived a life like me?’
I replied, ‘It’s not healthy, not right! You simply must change!’
Yet just as the Princess rose with grace to fetch some tea,
I woke with a start to realize that ‘Princess’ was me.”
I looked up, my heart beating wildly, and everyone was staring at me. Tears outlined my father’s eyes. After several moments, everyone uttered the words, “Thank you, Jordan,” and moved on to the next person. Grandpa went next and shared about a fishing trip he had taken to Canada with his best friend one year. Mom shared a compilation of three different stories that all shared one theme: bravery. Others shared joyful stories of adventure and triumph, and others stories of trials and sadness. The last family member finished. We all looked around the room at each other for several moments to soak in the serenity of it all. I looked out the window at the sun that was now higher in the sky and smiled. We all had so much to share. As we all retired to take our holiday afternoon naps, I went to my room, sat down on my floor, and cried. It was the best Christmas we had ever spent together.
My brothers and I were surprised at how everything turned out. We had assumed that we were going to do a bit more in-depth “story exploration” later on in the day with Mom and Dad. That didn’t happen. Several mentioned that Dad had commented on some of the stories; comments like, “I’m glad you told that story this morning. I enjoyed that.” I was glad there was no more discussion of the stories. Some were so heartfelt that it would’ve been hurtful for family members to comment or critique them later. The beauty of it all was that the stories were ours. They were safe. I felt more grown-up after that morning and the world didn’t seem as overwhelming as it once did.
Two weeks after Christmas, I found another poem in my desk. I looked at it for a while, and decided to bring it upstairs to the dinner table. I was going to read it for my family. The poem was called “Take Up”. The ending lines of the poem read,
My brothers and I were surprised at how everything turned out. We had assumed that we were going to do a bit more in-depth “story exploration” later on in the day with Mom and Dad. That didn’t happen. Several mentioned that Dad had commented on some of the stories; comments like, “I’m glad you told that story this morning. I enjoyed that.” I was glad there was no more discussion of the stories. Some were so heartfelt that it would’ve been hurtful for family members to comment or critique them later. The beauty of it all was that the stories were ours. They were safe. I felt more grown-up after that morning and the world didn’t seem as overwhelming as it once did.
Two weeks after Christmas, I found another poem in my desk. I looked at it for a while, and decided to bring it upstairs to the dinner table. I was going to read it for my family. The poem was called “Take Up”. The ending lines of the poem read,
“…and then look into the sun shining bright;
and take up your wings and soar into flight
and though you’re flying into the unknown
just trust in the wind and grace, you’ll be shown.”
and take up your wings and soar into flight
and though you’re flying into the unknown
just trust in the wind and grace, you’ll be shown.”
I looked up at my family’s beautiful faces as the steam rose from the hot skillet of food on the kitchen table. Mom and Dad’s eyes glistened with tears. It was then that I knew that I could trust them with any story I wanted to share.
I’m not going to lie and say that it hasn’t been hard. Our abandonment of presents on Christmas Day wasn’t an easy decision; we made it kicking and screaming. However, the sacred time we shared that Christmas morning two years ago was so sacred that presents no longer seemed as important as they once did. The decision to refrain from Christmas presents was never even discussed. It was obvious to us after the first year that nothing compared to the worth of a story written and shared from the heart. Yes, sometimes I struggle with finding words to say to a friend when he or she cheerfully asks, “So what are you getting for Christmas this year?” My immediate response is not, “We actually don’t ‘do’ presents.” Instead it’s, “We all write and tell stories.”
I’m not going to lie and say that it hasn’t been hard. Our abandonment of presents on Christmas Day wasn’t an easy decision; we made it kicking and screaming. However, the sacred time we shared that Christmas morning two years ago was so sacred that presents no longer seemed as important as they once did. The decision to refrain from Christmas presents was never even discussed. It was obvious to us after the first year that nothing compared to the worth of a story written and shared from the heart. Yes, sometimes I struggle with finding words to say to a friend when he or she cheerfully asks, “So what are you getting for Christmas this year?” My immediate response is not, “We actually don’t ‘do’ presents.” Instead it’s, “We all write and tell stories.”
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Now, I still get excited on Christmas morning, but not because of what’s under the Christmas tree, but because of what’s written on the page in the hand of a loved one. The Brown family Christmas will always be a Story Christmas. I can’t wait to finish writing the story I’ll share this year. I think it’ll be a little happier this time.
- Jordan Brown is a student at Lee University. She can be reached via E-mail at JBrown42@LeeU.edu at 865-630-0048 |
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Happy Holidays
We hope to bring the power of Story to your home this year. Below are examples of stories that family members have shared during our Christmas mornings. The Brown Family wishes you a Merry Christmas, Happy Hannakuh and a Happy New Year!
"Half-Time" - Jacob Brown Dec 25th, 2015
It was December 18th, 6:00 PM, 2015, the night of our Middle School basketball game. Throughout the year, we would have devotion every basketball practice night and most of the time we would mention to respect and honor each other, the opponent and most importantly God. I had never thought of what that meant until this night.
We started our game as usual with our warm-ups, 30 minutes before the game. In the first quarter, for some reason, everyone could not make a basket and we were down 11-0. Our opponent seemed like one of the nicest teams we had met all year. They would pat our butts on free throws while saying, "Good shot", when we made them and saying, "You got this", when we missed the others. My dad, the coach, was as calm as the other coach. In the first quarter he called time-out and said, "Boys, I think you're just getting warmed up. You just need some shots to fall."
The second quarter came and we scored six points in a couple minutes and got kind of fired up but it was still 15-6 at the half. As we headed to the locker room, I was thinking and I know along with everyone else, what coach was going to say, "Boys, whats happening!!!", "We should be up by 20!!", or "I don't feel like you're hustling enough!"
We started our game as usual with our warm-ups, 30 minutes before the game. In the first quarter, for some reason, everyone could not make a basket and we were down 11-0. Our opponent seemed like one of the nicest teams we had met all year. They would pat our butts on free throws while saying, "Good shot", when we made them and saying, "You got this", when we missed the others. My dad, the coach, was as calm as the other coach. In the first quarter he called time-out and said, "Boys, I think you're just getting warmed up. You just need some shots to fall."
The second quarter came and we scored six points in a couple minutes and got kind of fired up but it was still 15-6 at the half. As we headed to the locker room, I was thinking and I know along with everyone else, what coach was going to say, "Boys, whats happening!!!", "We should be up by 20!!", or "I don't feel like you're hustling enough!"
We all sat down along the wooden bench and then I heard my dad say the most unexpected words we'd heard in the locker room ever. He stood in silence a bit and said, "Boy's, it's clearly obvious you boys aren't having any fun out there. I haven't even seen one smile this whole game." He went on to say some other things about why even play basketball if we're not going to have fun and later ended with, "Now, go out there and have fun!"
Now, slowly but surely, in the third quarter, we really started playing and one thing after another it was 17-17. By this time the other team's players and coach began yelling and even their coach was cussing under his breath. This was like no other Christian team I had ever seen before. Then the refs called multiple bad calls on us, probably from the home coach yelling at them and all my dad would be doing was either stand there in silence or be cheering us on. Things got more and more intense in that gym. It was crazy. Even their fans started to get angry.
Into the fourth quarter, it was 21-21 and the other coach was really yelling and I think my dad must have had enough and called a 30 second time out. We scrambled to get our water bottles and to breathe and wasted the first 20 seconds of our time out. Then, with only 10 seconds left in our time out, coach huddled us in real close and said, "Boys look at me, listen to me and I mean listen... I want you to pound them." That was really the only thing that needed to be said.
We ended up winning the game, 23-29 and the best thing about this story is that we won the game keeping our composure, even though we did not like this other team at all. Having a role model like my dad as a coach, is the sweetest Christmas gift for me.
- Jacob
Now, slowly but surely, in the third quarter, we really started playing and one thing after another it was 17-17. By this time the other team's players and coach began yelling and even their coach was cussing under his breath. This was like no other Christian team I had ever seen before. Then the refs called multiple bad calls on us, probably from the home coach yelling at them and all my dad would be doing was either stand there in silence or be cheering us on. Things got more and more intense in that gym. It was crazy. Even their fans started to get angry.
Into the fourth quarter, it was 21-21 and the other coach was really yelling and I think my dad must have had enough and called a 30 second time out. We scrambled to get our water bottles and to breathe and wasted the first 20 seconds of our time out. Then, with only 10 seconds left in our time out, coach huddled us in real close and said, "Boys look at me, listen to me and I mean listen... I want you to pound them." That was really the only thing that needed to be said.
We ended up winning the game, 23-29 and the best thing about this story is that we won the game keeping our composure, even though we did not like this other team at all. Having a role model like my dad as a coach, is the sweetest Christmas gift for me.
- Jacob
"Scenes from Christmas Past" - Francie Brown Dec 25th, 2014
We'll Catch Him
“Ok, tonight is the night we will catch him. When we hear him at the door run as fast as you can.” I was standing in front of the side entrance to the house, the door that we always used. I could feel the cold of the outside coming in through the old window on my cheeks. I looked out and saw the blanket of white snow that had fallen. Maybe the snow would slow him down a bit. I was 10 and this was the one night of the year that we could catch Santa Claus. He came on Christmas Eve to our house. Perhaps it was because we were special that we were one of the first on his list. Bruce, at age 6, was just as interested in catching that sneaky and very quick gift-giver.
The house was filled with good smells, trays of cookies and family. This was a special night when Santa would come, drop off the gifts at the door and that would start the evening of opening presents for everyone. I loved Christmas Eve. As we walked through the house there was talking and laughter but all I could think about was, “WHEN WOULD SANTA COME?”
Just then there was a “HO! HO! HO!” It came from outside the door. I felt like everything turned to slow motion as I worked my way to the door. Adults made way for Bruce and I to open the door and stand in awe. This year he had brought presents on a sled. All the presents were stacked beautifully on a red sled in the snow in front of us. There was a moment of awe, a quiet, “wow.” We missed him.
As I looked at Bruce I said, “Let’s check the cookies!” What about the cookies? Had he eaten them? We had tried to lay out one of each type with the glass of milk but Mom assured us that he did not need that many cookies since he was going to so many homes. That seemed to make sense. We ran to the plate. Yep, he had been there too. One more year of missing that big jolly red-suited guy. Oh well, there is always next year… and now to open all of the presents. The evening had only began.
The Stable Was Dark
I was tired of walking and thankful to have some rest. It was a late. My master seemed worried. He had spoken to many different innkeepers and all shook their heads no. I heard the woman,
“Is it really to be that the baby would be born in such a nasty place?” My master said nothing. I did not find it nasty. It smelled like hay and other animals. Donkeys were used to such places. I had never seen a baby born in a stable though. I think that she was right to question. She went on, “This is supposed to be the child of God, the promised Messiah, no ordinary child. Joseph, are you sure that there is no other place?” “Yes, Mary, this is the only place. Bethlehem is filled with people coming in for the census.”
And so it was that baby was born right there in the stable that night. I was the only donkey there that night. There were a few other animals there but I was the only donkey. The baby was a boy named Jesus. I suppose I got to be there for the first Christmas. It was a special day but not celebrated. A stinky old stable, a baby in a dirty feeding trough and two young people that surely did not know the full meaning of that night.
“Goodnight, Sleep Well."
It was Christmas Eve and Rob and I had just said goodnight to everyone and retired to our bedroom only to see the stack of gifts in the closet to wrap. The gifts were to numerous to count. All of the grandparents sent money that we were to spend on gifts for the children. I was thankful that I had already purchased them but the wrapping was a whole other chore. I enjoyed wrapping but it was late and I was tired.
“Ok, I will wrap these. You wrap those.” I was tired and thinking about the crazy morning it would be unwrapping all of the presents that would only stay wrapped for a few hours but thankful for the abundance.
Three gifts, if it was good enough for Jesus, it should be good enough for us. That was my thought as I heard of another family adopting the idea of giving three gifts to each child, similar to the ones given to Jesus. Gold was to be gift that we really wanted, the “precious one”. Frankincense was a gift for spiritual growth. Myrrh was a gift to take car of your body. This would take away from some of the stress of purchasing gifts for Christmas. I loved giving gifts and receiving but we had lost some of the meaning of Christmas when we focused so much of the holiday on the buying and giving of the gifts. This Christmas would be different.
Today
As I sit here today I find myself so very thankful to have very little to spend this Christmas. God has given us abundance in so many ways that I could not possibly have dreamed. Stories of Christmas’s past are fun but do not have near the depth of what I believe this Christmas has. I believe this Christmas is a little more about what that first Christmas was. I find myself asking, really is this what you have for us? Maybe it is similar to how Mary felt having her first birthing experience in a stable filled with animals. There were no glittering gifts of gold frankincense and myrrh, we know that that came years later. It was just a quiet day. Perhaps Mary and Joseph told stories or dreamt of what their life would be with this child that God gave them that would some day save the world.
I think this Christmas helps me to identify more with Christ. He did not come as a wealthy king but as a lowly servant. He did not come to give gifts of this world but eternal gifts. The stories we share here today are eternal. Ones I will treasure. A Christmas that is not as much about pretty gift-wrapped boxes and gifts but more about Jesus.
“Ok, tonight is the night we will catch him. When we hear him at the door run as fast as you can.” I was standing in front of the side entrance to the house, the door that we always used. I could feel the cold of the outside coming in through the old window on my cheeks. I looked out and saw the blanket of white snow that had fallen. Maybe the snow would slow him down a bit. I was 10 and this was the one night of the year that we could catch Santa Claus. He came on Christmas Eve to our house. Perhaps it was because we were special that we were one of the first on his list. Bruce, at age 6, was just as interested in catching that sneaky and very quick gift-giver.
The house was filled with good smells, trays of cookies and family. This was a special night when Santa would come, drop off the gifts at the door and that would start the evening of opening presents for everyone. I loved Christmas Eve. As we walked through the house there was talking and laughter but all I could think about was, “WHEN WOULD SANTA COME?”
Just then there was a “HO! HO! HO!” It came from outside the door. I felt like everything turned to slow motion as I worked my way to the door. Adults made way for Bruce and I to open the door and stand in awe. This year he had brought presents on a sled. All the presents were stacked beautifully on a red sled in the snow in front of us. There was a moment of awe, a quiet, “wow.” We missed him.
As I looked at Bruce I said, “Let’s check the cookies!” What about the cookies? Had he eaten them? We had tried to lay out one of each type with the glass of milk but Mom assured us that he did not need that many cookies since he was going to so many homes. That seemed to make sense. We ran to the plate. Yep, he had been there too. One more year of missing that big jolly red-suited guy. Oh well, there is always next year… and now to open all of the presents. The evening had only began.
The Stable Was Dark
I was tired of walking and thankful to have some rest. It was a late. My master seemed worried. He had spoken to many different innkeepers and all shook their heads no. I heard the woman,
“Is it really to be that the baby would be born in such a nasty place?” My master said nothing. I did not find it nasty. It smelled like hay and other animals. Donkeys were used to such places. I had never seen a baby born in a stable though. I think that she was right to question. She went on, “This is supposed to be the child of God, the promised Messiah, no ordinary child. Joseph, are you sure that there is no other place?” “Yes, Mary, this is the only place. Bethlehem is filled with people coming in for the census.”
And so it was that baby was born right there in the stable that night. I was the only donkey there that night. There were a few other animals there but I was the only donkey. The baby was a boy named Jesus. I suppose I got to be there for the first Christmas. It was a special day but not celebrated. A stinky old stable, a baby in a dirty feeding trough and two young people that surely did not know the full meaning of that night.
“Goodnight, Sleep Well."
It was Christmas Eve and Rob and I had just said goodnight to everyone and retired to our bedroom only to see the stack of gifts in the closet to wrap. The gifts were to numerous to count. All of the grandparents sent money that we were to spend on gifts for the children. I was thankful that I had already purchased them but the wrapping was a whole other chore. I enjoyed wrapping but it was late and I was tired.
“Ok, I will wrap these. You wrap those.” I was tired and thinking about the crazy morning it would be unwrapping all of the presents that would only stay wrapped for a few hours but thankful for the abundance.
Three gifts, if it was good enough for Jesus, it should be good enough for us. That was my thought as I heard of another family adopting the idea of giving three gifts to each child, similar to the ones given to Jesus. Gold was to be gift that we really wanted, the “precious one”. Frankincense was a gift for spiritual growth. Myrrh was a gift to take car of your body. This would take away from some of the stress of purchasing gifts for Christmas. I loved giving gifts and receiving but we had lost some of the meaning of Christmas when we focused so much of the holiday on the buying and giving of the gifts. This Christmas would be different.
Today
As I sit here today I find myself so very thankful to have very little to spend this Christmas. God has given us abundance in so many ways that I could not possibly have dreamed. Stories of Christmas’s past are fun but do not have near the depth of what I believe this Christmas has. I believe this Christmas is a little more about what that first Christmas was. I find myself asking, really is this what you have for us? Maybe it is similar to how Mary felt having her first birthing experience in a stable filled with animals. There were no glittering gifts of gold frankincense and myrrh, we know that that came years later. It was just a quiet day. Perhaps Mary and Joseph told stories or dreamt of what their life would be with this child that God gave them that would some day save the world.
I think this Christmas helps me to identify more with Christ. He did not come as a wealthy king but as a lowly servant. He did not come to give gifts of this world but eternal gifts. The stories we share here today are eternal. Ones I will treasure. A Christmas that is not as much about pretty gift-wrapped boxes and gifts but more about Jesus.
"Pooh Bear" - Jordan Brown Dec 25th, 2015
It was the week of my 10th birthday. I had spent all of the beginning of the week trying to convince my parents that I was responsible enough to have a pet of my own. I had bought my own book. How to Care for Your Hamster. I read it front to back multiple times and shared the things I learned with my family.
August 10th 2007, mom called me downstairs. I reluctantly flew down the stairs. I was surprised to my best friends, Sarah and Kendall smiling at me and laughing. We all hugged and I was happy to see them, but my attention drew quickly to the cage on the kitchen counter. A blue plastic base with shiny white metal bars. There was a little running wheel inside and a little igloo. A little golden brown fluffy creature nestled into the corner of the cage, shaking frantically. My friends wanted to pet him immediately. I warned my friend Kendall about Golden Bear Hamster's instincts with being held. Kendall plunged her hand into the cage, frightening the little creature so much that he stood on his two hind legs and flashed his teeth. Kendall said “Oops, I didn’t know that would scare him!” I said, “I told you it would! He’s not warmed up to us yet. Here. Let me show you how it’s done.” I slowly opened the top of the cage and carefully reached my hand down to the hamster bedding. Just 3 inches away from my hamster, I nestled the bedding into my hand, making slight sounds. He glanced at me and cleaned his nose with his paws. I inched closer. I nudged one finger up against his belly and gently rubbed. He put his little paws on my finger. And it was then that I knew this animal and I were going to be best of friends.
“What are you going to call him, Jordan?” “Pooh Bear. He’s a golden bear hamster and he looks all cute and cuddly. We’ll call him Pooh Bear.”
That was the best month of my life. Pooh Bear and I shared countless adventures. I would put him in his hamster ball every day so he could get his daily exercise. (He was a little heavy around the waist.) Some days, being the slightly ADD person that I was, I would forget that I ever put him in there. I would find him down in the basement, just rolling around in his ball. I remember one time he escaped from his cage. Mom and I were frantic. But we found him in the school room, eating some rice that we had in there for a school project. He was just fine, just relaxing.
I had a dollhouse that I had received for Christmas one year and I never had found any exciting use for it… until now.
I went to Pooh Bear’s food and picked out the corn kernels from it. They were his favorite part. I stashed them away in the little toy refrigerator in the dollhouse kitchen. I watched Pooh Bear start from the top of the house, scramble down the stairs into the kitchen to open the fridge and put all the kernels in his huge cheeks. My brothers and I laughed hysterically at how much he could stash away in his cheeks to save for later. I was fascinated by Pooh Bear.
One day, Mom and Dad told us that we were moving because we were losing our house. I didn’t really understand what this meant. I went up to my room, cupped Pooh Bear in my hands, laid on my bed and cried. I would just talk to him. It seemed like he heard everything I said. It was as if his sole purpose in life was to listen to me. And just maybe it was.
The week of the big move was approaching. That was the worst week. Not only was my princess room piled up in boxes around my feet, but Pooh Bear was beginning to get colder whenever I picked him up. He wouldn’t run around as fast as he used to. He didn’t eat as much food as he always did. He never ran on his wheel anymore. I would just sit and watch him sleep… day after day… the days slowly went by.
A youth retreat that I was really excited for had finally come. I said goodbye to Pooh Bear with tears in my eyes… but I was anxious to get out of the house. We were on the way home from the retreat when I got a call from my mom. “Honey… Pooh Bear’s gone.” I didn’t have words… I forgot how to speak for a second. I said the only thing I knew to say at the moment… “Ok.”
I returned home depressed as ever. I was determined to have a funeral for Pooh, but I didn’t want anyone else to attend. Everyone was so busy getting ready for the move the next day. But this was serious business. I would never ever forgive myself if I didn’t honor my little friend in this way. I wrote a little note for Pooh Bear’s grave. It wrote: “Here lies Pooh… the bestest friend I could’ve ever had. I hope there are lots of corn kernels in heaven. I’ll see you there.” I buried Pooh in our front yard with the note placed on top of the grave. I cried for a half hour. I went back inside and cleaned all of Pooh Bear’s supplies and stashed them away in a box. Tomorrow was the big move… and I was going to have to face it without him. But I was certain that he trusted me to be strong when the time came.
August 10th 2007, mom called me downstairs. I reluctantly flew down the stairs. I was surprised to my best friends, Sarah and Kendall smiling at me and laughing. We all hugged and I was happy to see them, but my attention drew quickly to the cage on the kitchen counter. A blue plastic base with shiny white metal bars. There was a little running wheel inside and a little igloo. A little golden brown fluffy creature nestled into the corner of the cage, shaking frantically. My friends wanted to pet him immediately. I warned my friend Kendall about Golden Bear Hamster's instincts with being held. Kendall plunged her hand into the cage, frightening the little creature so much that he stood on his two hind legs and flashed his teeth. Kendall said “Oops, I didn’t know that would scare him!” I said, “I told you it would! He’s not warmed up to us yet. Here. Let me show you how it’s done.” I slowly opened the top of the cage and carefully reached my hand down to the hamster bedding. Just 3 inches away from my hamster, I nestled the bedding into my hand, making slight sounds. He glanced at me and cleaned his nose with his paws. I inched closer. I nudged one finger up against his belly and gently rubbed. He put his little paws on my finger. And it was then that I knew this animal and I were going to be best of friends.
“What are you going to call him, Jordan?” “Pooh Bear. He’s a golden bear hamster and he looks all cute and cuddly. We’ll call him Pooh Bear.”
That was the best month of my life. Pooh Bear and I shared countless adventures. I would put him in his hamster ball every day so he could get his daily exercise. (He was a little heavy around the waist.) Some days, being the slightly ADD person that I was, I would forget that I ever put him in there. I would find him down in the basement, just rolling around in his ball. I remember one time he escaped from his cage. Mom and I were frantic. But we found him in the school room, eating some rice that we had in there for a school project. He was just fine, just relaxing.
I had a dollhouse that I had received for Christmas one year and I never had found any exciting use for it… until now.
I went to Pooh Bear’s food and picked out the corn kernels from it. They were his favorite part. I stashed them away in the little toy refrigerator in the dollhouse kitchen. I watched Pooh Bear start from the top of the house, scramble down the stairs into the kitchen to open the fridge and put all the kernels in his huge cheeks. My brothers and I laughed hysterically at how much he could stash away in his cheeks to save for later. I was fascinated by Pooh Bear.
One day, Mom and Dad told us that we were moving because we were losing our house. I didn’t really understand what this meant. I went up to my room, cupped Pooh Bear in my hands, laid on my bed and cried. I would just talk to him. It seemed like he heard everything I said. It was as if his sole purpose in life was to listen to me. And just maybe it was.
The week of the big move was approaching. That was the worst week. Not only was my princess room piled up in boxes around my feet, but Pooh Bear was beginning to get colder whenever I picked him up. He wouldn’t run around as fast as he used to. He didn’t eat as much food as he always did. He never ran on his wheel anymore. I would just sit and watch him sleep… day after day… the days slowly went by.
A youth retreat that I was really excited for had finally come. I said goodbye to Pooh Bear with tears in my eyes… but I was anxious to get out of the house. We were on the way home from the retreat when I got a call from my mom. “Honey… Pooh Bear’s gone.” I didn’t have words… I forgot how to speak for a second. I said the only thing I knew to say at the moment… “Ok.”
I returned home depressed as ever. I was determined to have a funeral for Pooh, but I didn’t want anyone else to attend. Everyone was so busy getting ready for the move the next day. But this was serious business. I would never ever forgive myself if I didn’t honor my little friend in this way. I wrote a little note for Pooh Bear’s grave. It wrote: “Here lies Pooh… the bestest friend I could’ve ever had. I hope there are lots of corn kernels in heaven. I’ll see you there.” I buried Pooh in our front yard with the note placed on top of the grave. I cried for a half hour. I went back inside and cleaned all of Pooh Bear’s supplies and stashed them away in a box. Tomorrow was the big move… and I was going to have to face it without him. But I was certain that he trusted me to be strong when the time came.
