A bright light after war

BY TOSHI MORIKAWA

IT WAS AUGUST 15, 1945 . US warplanes had just dropped flyers announcing our city in Japan was the next to be bombed. Our family was out in the garden, burning up nonessential items in preparation for our move to a safer home in the mountains. Among the things we burned was an artificial Christmas tree, along with ornaments we had brought back from England, where we'd lived until shortly before the war broke out.

Later that day, the Emperor announced that our country had surrendered unconditionally. A new age had begun. We were free—free from air raids and free to keep the lights on.

But we were short of everything, and people were hungry.

Come December, our family still wanted to celebrate Christmas. So we went to a farmhouse and got a little fir tree. We made simple origami decorations and hung them on the branches. Then, on Christmas Eve, a package arrived from friends in England. Inside was a box of sweets, wrapped in colorful foils—gold, silver, red, blue, and green. The package had been posted in September, just after the war's end. We hadn't seen anything so pretty for years. We decided to decorate the Christmas tree with the brightly colored candy. For us, it was the perfect tree.

Shortly after our modest Christmas Eve dinner, we heard a bustling noise outside. Then came the sounds of "Joy to the world!" We opened the door, and found a dozen young men and women from the Episcopal church in town, caroling in the frosty night air. We invited them in and took down the candy from the Christmas tree to serve our guests. They said they hadn't tasted anything so sweet, so good, for years. Sitting around the bare Christmas tree, we sang Christmas carols to our hearts' content. Then after they'd left, we picked up the colorful candy wrappings and hung them back on the tree.

It was exactly ten years later that I first encountered Christian Science, at a dorm-room pajama party at a small US college. One of the students there was a Christian Scientist, and many of the girls were questioning her about her religion. I, too, was curious and asked her if she would take me to church with her. At my first service, I just knew this was my church.

Ever since, I've continued to learn a higher meaning of Christmas, as the celebration of Jesus' appearance on earth as an embodiment of the Christ. But that Christmas of 1945 continues to be my most memorable one, when we felt God's love so tangibly. God showed how he cares for us and reaches us wherever we are. Mrs. Eddy wrote, "The 'still, small voice' of scientific thought reaches over continent and ocean to the globe's remotest bound" (Science and Health, p. 559). We felt the joy of God's love that night, even among the people of a defeated nation.

I am convinced that God is working beyond human sense and reason, reaching hearts—millions of hearts—in every corner of the earth.

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