As we approach the winter solstice, a time of reflection and renewal, we want to thank you for your support and engagement with Teachings Tuesday throughout the year. This marks our final broadcast of 2024 as we endeavor to honour this sacred season with intentionality. We will return on January 8th, and until then, we wish you a warm and wonderful solstice filled with love, rest, and connection.
To close the year, we are honoured to share a story written by our mentor, Daniel Elliott, a proud member of the Stz'uminus First Nation. Daniel’s reflections transport us back to the 1960s, blending humor, resilience, and the quiet magic of community and nature. His words are a reminder that even in times of hardship, unexpected blessings can remind us of our interconnectedness.
One Magic Christmas
By Daniel R. Elliott, Stz’uminus First Nation
When Uncle Clarence and our father were falling timber on Vancouver Island, an old snag—a dead tree—stood in the way of their work. What they didn’t realize was that the snag was home to a family of raccoons. After careful planning, they brought the snag down, but when the dust settled, creaks and groans gave way to something else—a faint, scratchy whine.
Curious, they peeked into a hollow in the fallen tree and found two baby raccoons, eyes still closed. At first, they stepped back, hoping their mother would return, but as the days passed, it became clear that she wasn’t coming back. My dad and Uncle Clarence decided to rescue the little kits, tucking them into their lunchboxes and bringing them home.
One raccoon, Bandit, came to our family. My brothers and I raised him with eye droppers of milk and plenty of love. Before long, he became one of us—running through the fields, climbing trees, and even snacking on raw potato slices with us high up in the fir trees. Bandit was agile and full of personality, blending the mischief of a raccoon with the loyalty of a dog.
As the seasons changed, so did our family life. My father was an excellent faller, but he struggled with binge drinking. In the 1960s, support systems for people battling addiction were almost nonexistent. My mom, ever resourceful, tried her best to keep our family afloat. Sometimes, this meant we went “car camping,” sitting in the car while Dad went into the pub. Other times, we walked long distances home, my brothers holding my hand as we made our way back to our drafty boarding house.
That December, things were leaner than ever. Mom stretched our food as far as she could—garlic and white navy beans were all we had left. Christmas was just days away, and the weight of hunger and uncertainty hung over us like the cold winter fog.
On December 23rd, I remember crying quietly in bed, praying for Dad to come home and for Christmas to somehow find us. The next day, as the sky grew dark, we had given up hope. Then, a bark from our dog drew us to the window.
A white Salvation Army van pulled into our driveway. Out stepped three people wearing Santa hats, their arms laden with food and gifts. “Is this the Elliott's?” they asked with smiles as bright as the holiday lights.
What followed was nothing short of a Christmas miracle. Turkey, trimmings, and enough food to fill our bellies for weeks were carried into our home. Each of us children received gifts that matched our names as though these strangers had known us all our lives. Our little tree, a scrappy balsam we had decorated with tinsel, stood proudly as we filled the space beneath it with presents.
For the first time in weeks, our home was warm—not just from the fire crackling in the hearth, but from the love and generosity of strangers who had heard our silent prayers.
That Christmas remains a vivid memory for me, a testament to the kindness of others and the resilience of our family. Dad didn’t make it home until after Boxing Day, but his absence didn’t diminish the magic of that day. It was a turning point—a moment of hope that carried us through.
Bandit eventually answered nature’s call, leaving to start a family of his own. And years later, Dad found his way, overcoming his struggles with alcohol to become a man of great compassion and love.
I often think of that one magic Christmas and the quiet, unseen ways our prayers are answered. Who knows what’s on the other side or who might be there to help us in our time of need?
✨ As we close this year’s Teachings Tuesday, we invite you to reflect on Daniel’s story and the power of community, faith, and perseverance. May this solstice bring you moments of stillness, wonder, and renewal.
We look forward to reconnecting in 2025. Until then, we wish you peace and joy
Comments