The Christmas Cactus
Blessing All the Families of the Earth
Christmas is all about family, isn’t it? We find evidence of this in the Gospel of Matthew, where the Christmas story begins not with angels and wise men but with a genealogy—a family tree. Tracing twenty-eight generations, it reaches all the way back to faithful Abraham, to whom God had given a promise, that through him, all the families of the earth would be blessed. That promise was ultimately fulfilled through the coming of Christ.
And still today, there’s no season that celebrates family like Christmas. It carries that beautiful blend of generations: the nostalgia and traditions of our ancestors, alongside the sparkle of promise in the wondering faces of our children and grandchildren. The young ones listen enthralled to the family lore shared by the old, while the older folks delight in the fresh joy bubbling out of the kids. So the love of the past and the hope for the future meld into a holiday recipe that nourishes our souls just as surely as eggnog and Grandma’s apple pie fill our bellies.
After all, the first Christmas story is nothing if not a tribute to the family. For it tells us that when God purposed to change the world, He did so not through angels or kings, nor through generals or politicians. The most significant event in human history began with one little baby, raised by two humble parents who loved that child and recognized the latent promise He represented.
One scene from the story that always stirs my heart is when Mary and Joseph bring baby Jesus to the temple in Jerusalem to be dedicated. There they meet Simeon and Anna—two ancient Hebrew elders who didn’t want to finish their course on earth before they laid eyes on the promised child, the consolation of Israel. I picture them taking that one-week-old baby in their trembling, gnarled hands and weeping for joy that even in the winter of their lives, they could participate in the birth of the promise, the hope of the ages for which they had invested their entire lives.
What follows is another story of generational investment, of gifts that keep on giving—a story that reminds us that it’s never too late for love.
Young at Heart
Last year, just a few days after our Christmas concert, the eldest member of our congregation here at Heritage Ministries went home to be with her Lord and Savior.
You’ve heard the Christmas song: “And so I’m offering this simple phrase, for kids from one to ninety-two . . . .” Well, whoever wrote that wasn’t inclusive enough. Henrietta Tittley was nearly 102 when she passed, and definitely still young at heart. She lived to see her grandchildren’s grandchildren.
I was privileged to attend Etta’s hundredth birthday party. Her ninety-eight-year-old sister, Margret, also quite spry, traveled here from Canada for the occasion. During dinner, Margret thought she’d lost her glasses, only to discover them hanging around her own neck, right where they always were. Etta responded, “My goodness, Marg! If you’re doing that kind of thing already, what will you be like at my age?”
Etta was born in 1923 in the Dominion of Newfoundland—at that time an independent nation that wouldn’t officially join Canada for another twenty-six years. She was musically talented, and she sang for the troops coming through places like Gander and Placentia Bay during the Second World War. This was before the jet age, so most transatlantic flights stopped in Newfoundland as the last opportunity to refuel, bringing unprecedented action to the tiny towns in the war years. Etta loved to tell how she rubbed shoulders with Bob Hope and once served salad to Winston Churchill when he stopped there on his way across the pond.
Never Too Late for Love
Etta eventually broke her father’s heart when she left her family and the tiny fishing villages of Newfoundland for the lights and glamour of Montreal. There she married and had a son—Danny Tittley. When Danny came of age, it was Etta’s turn to have her heart broken. Swept up in the ‘60s Revolution, Danny bought a one-way ticket to Europe and set out to backpack the hippie trail, dealing drugs for a living and occasionally finding himself crosswise with the law.
Meanwhile, back in Canada, Danny’s father, Al, couldn’t sleep one night. It was August of 1972, and they had long since lost contact with Danny. But they believed it was never too late for love. Al was so agitated about Danny’s condition that he got up in the middle of the night and started pacing. He told Etta, “I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. I don’t know what pain he’s in or what pain he’s causing others. But we’ve got to pray for him.”
Al and Etta were not accustomed to praying together. He was raised a Catholic, and she was Protestant. But that night they paced from one end of their apartment to the other together, weeping and crying out to God to have mercy on their lost son, to do whatever it took to save him.
Unbeknownst to them, just days after that prayer, somewhere out in the Swiss Alps, Danny had an unexpected life-changing encounter with Jesus. He flushed all his drugs down the toilet and never touched them again. His immediate, consuming goal became to get home, to ask his parents’ forgiveness and tell them that his life was changed forever.
That encounter with Jesus in the Alps, the answer to the prayer of two desperate parents, set the course of Danny’s life, guiding his future decisions, including his later marriage to Teresa and the choice to homeschool their children, long before that was popular. Danny and Teresa’s eldest son also left home when he came of age—but this time, no hearts were broken. With his parents’ encouragement, Nathan Tittley came down to Homestead Heritage for a horse farming apprenticeship thirty years ago and is now one of my closest friends.
Hearing about what Nathan had found in the great state of Texas, Danny and Teresa soon made their way here as well. Now most of the family lives here.
In late 2019, Grandma Etta Tittley came down to Texas for a visit. Then the pandemic struck, and she couldn’t go home. By the time COVID travel restrictions lifted, she didn’t want to go home. She felt she was home. She asked to attend church here at Heritage Ministries and often commented on how much she loved the preaching of Blair Adams.
Inspired by the life of her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, she eventually began exploring new territory in her own faith journey. Though she’d been a believer for many years, she was mindful that she had never been baptized as an adult. She longed to make a public commitment to Jesus Christ as Lord of her life. So, at nearly ninety-nine years old, she asked her grandson to baptize her! The Tittleys would later discover that Etta actually broke the Guinness world record for the oldest person ever baptized. After all, it’s never too late for love.
Canadian Christmas
In honor of all our beloved friends from the north country, my wife and I started a new Christmas tradition a few years ago that we call “Canadian Christmas.” We have the whole extended Tittley family over for poutine (which is not to be confused with a certain notorious Russian). Poutine is a traditional Canadian dish—perhaps the highest calorie food known to man—a mix of hot French fries and melting cheese curds smothered in rich gravy. The meal is followed by a lively crokinole tournament.
The first time Etta came through our door for Canadian Christmas, she sat right down at the piano and whipped out some ragtime number—at nearly 100! Later, when Danny and Teresa were helping her get ready to leave, she announced in a stage whisper, “Danny just uses me as his excuse to go home early!”
The next year, Etta brought us a gift for the occasion—a “Christmas cactus,” so called not because it’s green and red but because it’s supposed to bloom in the wintertime. My wife and I are pretty good at killing house plants, but we managed to keep this one alive. Shortly before Canadian Christmas last year, we noticed that, sure enough, the Christmas cactus had buds all over it. We were looking forward to showing Etta that the gift she gave us was alive and flourishing.
But Etta herself was weakening. Her grandchildren and great grandchildren rallied around her, providing around the clock in-home care. The day before our Canadian Christmas, we learned that the Lord had called her home to glory.
We offered, of course, to cancel or postpone the Canadian Christmas. But to a man the Tittleys all insisted that Etta would have been horrified at the thought. Getting the whole family together for a wonderful celebration would be exactly the homegoing she hoped for, they said. So we spent a beautiful evening together sharing memories, laughter, tears—and poutine and crokinole.
Winter Blossoms
The week of Etta’s memorial service, the Christmas cactus burst out in prolific flowers—as if to tell us, “Though it may be wintertime, your brightest blossoms are still ahead.”
The gifts Etta gave us just keep on giving. One prayer of faith in 1972 produced a chain reaction of care—five generations of investing the seeds of love and watching them bloom.
So the moral of this story is not only that Canadians can be redeemed and find a home in Texas. 😊 The moral is that it’s never too late for love.
And that’s also the message of the original story we celebrate in this season. As my favorite carol says, “Long lay the world, in sin and error pining, till He appeared, and the soul felt its worth.” It was winter in the hearts of men. But a gracious Heavenly Father so loved His long-lost family that even when we broke His heart, He sent His only Son to show us the way home.
Bethlehem’s Child didn’t have it easy down here. We gave Him the worst our world had to offer. But even when it all seemed to end in a cold tomb, He proved to us once again that it’s never too late for love. And when He returned home to glory, He left us with a generational gift—a promise for you, for your children, for all who are afar off. And though the love of many grows cold, that gift of the Holy Spirit is still blooming today, still promising to bless all the families of the earth.
So whether you’re young or 102, I invite you to consider the message of the Christmas cactus—for your own life and for those you care about—and believe that it’s never too late to blossom.
