November 30, 2025 
by M. Regina Cram
It was the week before Christmas, and I was exhausted.
Our four kids were split between three different schools, I was immersed in a painful family situation, and this particular week, I’d driven more than 600 miles in a minivan that was in worse shape than I was. The front windows wouldn’t close. We had to wire-shut the sliding door so it wouldn’t fall off again, and the clock was permanently stuck 47 minutes fast. Well, except during daylight savings time, then it was an hour and 47 minutes fast.
That fall, my husband Peter had been working 90-hour weeks in preparation for Y2K. (Yes, Y2K really was a thing. Ask Peter.) By Thanksgiving, he was on call around the clock and came home only to shower and change clothes. Weekends no longer existed. Forget holidays.
By the week before Christmas, Y2K was just 15 days away. Peter functioned reasonably well on adrenaline, but I’d reached a state of physical and emotional exhaustion. And it was my birthday.
In the midst of the craziness, Peter and I managed to slip away for a quiet birthday dinner. That’s when he astounded me with the most remarkable gift I have ever received. He sent me away alone. Immediately.
I mean, really alone, to a tiny mountain village tucked in the crook of the Housatonic River. The Appalachian Trail wound through the nearby state forest, and the only neighbors lived peacefully in the cemetery next door. It was dark, deserted, and lonely, and I loved every minute of it.
For three whole days, I didn’t have to referee a single sibling argument. I could eat Wheaties for dinner if I wanted, and drink my morning coffee without needing to reheat it even once. There was no telephone, no carpools, no schedule. It was glorious.
I took leisurely walks along the river and listened to the quiet gurgle of water slurping over the stones. I had the unspeakable joy of attending Mass each morning, then lingering before the Blessed Sacrament to savor the mystical gift of Christ’s presence in the Eucharist. I spent untold hours pouring out my heart to God and listening to the still, small voice of His Holy Spirit. I felt like a child nestling against the soft beating of my Daddy’s heart, simply enjoying the pleasure of his company.
Somehow Peter made it through Y2K despite the precious hours dedicated to carpools instead of computer code, and gradually the noisy cadence of our lives returned. But I will always cherish my husband’s extraordinary gift, lavished on me to nurture my soul, and because he loves me.
We joke that for my birthday, my husband got rid of me. But the truth is that Peter’s gift was enormously sacrificial, modeled after the One who sent an even greater gift to a weary and discouraged world. That gift was the most magnificent, most tender, most sacrificial gift the world has ever known.
Christmas.
M. Regina Cram is a published author and a parishioner of SS. Isidore and Maria Parish.
