Theo of Golden: A Novel by Allen Levi - 49

December 25

Dear Asher,

It is a dreary, blustery day – a White Christmas – here in New York City. If I were surrounded by field and forest, instead of concrete and steel, the holiday would look like all the ones beautifully pictured on the greeting cards. But thankfully, even here, the Hudson River and a generous population of trees give nature a strong presence. So strong, in fact, that, an hour ago, I was tempted to risk the slippery sidewalks for a stroll outdoors. Instead, I have chosen a safer alternative and am very happy to spend time, pen in hand, with ones like you and Brooke “if only in my dreams.”

I checked the weather report for Golden a short while ago, and it appears to be as sunless there as it is in the Northeast today. Against that bleak backdrop, I picture you and Brooke, and possibly a newly engaged Samantha, enjoying the same warmth that filled Glissen House at Thanksgiving.

By now, late afternoon, I’m certain Mrs. Gidley has received her portrait. Can you imagine the expression on her face when she answered the doorbell, looked down, and saw dear Lamisha standing there, package in hand? I have to believe that the exquisite gift was made doubly so by the manner in which it was delivered. I hope so.

Thank you for doing the portrait on such short notice and at such a busy time. And again, my gratitude for making the bestowals possible these past months. Every portrait has been, in a very real sense, an Advent, a Christmas, a giving of life.

Speaking of portraits. I heard a lovely homily about “faces” this morning. The pastor offered the opinion that, when we are born, our first instinct — “far deeper than intention” — is to find a face. Our weak and blurry little eyes, wide open but not yet trained to see, search for something, someone, with which to bond. I am inclined to agree with him. You?

Do you recall the first time you leaned in close to look at your newborn daughter? Did you have a sense that you and she were both reaching toward each other somehow, to speak a language too deep for words?

Didn’t it seem that your Samantha (and my Tita) were trying somehow to recognize and understand our faces when they first looked at us?

I have a close friend who is an eye doctor and a man of great depth. He holds firmly to the belief that the most important (and formative and effortless) thing a parent can do for a baby is to gaze into his or her face, to hold him or her close and engage the eyes. Could anything be simpler? Is anything more profound? Does anything more deeply change parent and child?

I wonder if, like newborn children, we go through our entire lives looking for a face, longing for a particular gaze that calms and fills us, that loves and welcomes us, that recognizes and runs to greet us. Is that perhaps what this day, Christmas, is all about ?

It is an imponderable thought that the Giver of Faces, the face of heaven itself, the face for which every heart yearns, became a wee babe, misty eyed and helpless, looking Himself for the tender face of His mother on the night of the angels.

Might that blessed face find you and Brooke in good health and glad spirits today.

I look forward to seeing you soon. Till then, every good thing, and Merry Christmas,

Theo

P.S. If you see Ellen, please tell her I saw a blue jay this past week in Central Park. From what I could tell, it seemed to be missing a tail feather!

There was no return address on the letter or the envelope.