Christmas Box Angel Statue—Las Vegas

We were lucky to even get there at all.

We showed up at what we thought was the right place, with just ten minutes to spare. But with no other cars in the parking lot at Palms Mortuary, we became suspicious. After a phone call and quick internet search, we learned there are two Palm Mortuaries on Jones Boulevard in Las Vegas, and we were at the wrong one. The other was ten miles away!

After a couple of miscues with Google Navigator and twenty minutes of u-turns, left turns, right turns, and straining to see street signs, we finally made it to the correct locale. (Ironically, the quickest was to the other mortuary on Jones Boulevard was not a straight line.)

The funeral home is on the same lot as the cemetery. My first surprise was the number of cars in the parking lot. All the stalls were occupied and we had to find a spot next to the exit lane of the cemetery. I expected there might be a couple dozen people, but now I guessed there were probably several hundred.

When we entered the mortuary, it looked more like an airport terminal. People lounged in soft chairs, walked around sipping hot chocolate, and chit-chatted among themselves. A few dressed in Sunday attire, but the majority in casual dress such as jeans and t-shirt. As for me, I was the only one in shorts—we had just come from the beach.

We had no idea what to expect. All we knew was that the Palm Mortuary was having a Tree of Memory Ceremony on December 6^th, and we just happened to be passing through Las Vegas at that time. (Many cemeteries have a similar ritual on this date, all inspired by the Richard Paul Evans novella, The Christmas Box, that tells the story of an elderly lady who, after losing a child, wrote her letters that she kept in a beautifully carved Christmas Box. At the cemetery where the child is buried there is a great stone angel next to the headstone.)

I noticed that a devotional of some sort was being broadcast to a television in the lobby. A choir was on screen singing “Let There be Peace on Earth,” but I couldn't see too well because we were further back. I asked one of the ladies if the program was almost over and she pointed out to me on the program that there were still two more songs.

With a little more observation, I noticed that through a door to the right of the television, there was a chapel full of people. “Is that where the program is being filmed?” I asked the lady. She smiled and nodded her head.

Quietly, I tip-toed to the doorway and peeked inside the chapel. The pews were full and the congregation watched intently the performance on stage. The organist played from the back of the chapel.

After a final congregational hymn, I found an empty seat on the back row and listened to the remarks of a man standing at the pulpit. I couldn't see him well, so I can't describe what he looked like. There was no closing prayer. Instead, we were instructed to proceed out the south door and onto the lawn for the tree dedication and lighting.

I found my family and we walked together to the lawn where two ladies handed out white roses to each person. Almost all wore heavy coats and stocking caps. Las Vegas can be cold on a December night.

The tree was a very tall pine tree that scaled several stories tall. It had been decorated with large ornamental balls that must have been placed with an extremely tall ladder or crane. Several people came up and placed their own decorations on the tree, each representing the loved one that they had lost. They were all hung on the bottom branches, as those were the only ones they could reach. Being unprepared, we didn't have an ornament for Brittany.

While people were still hanging their trinkets, a small choir from a local high school began singing hymns. The choir dressed in old English attire, the gentleman in dark suits with black satin hats, and the ladies wore red shawls that made them look like Little Red Riding Hood from behind. They sang in a small circle and their voices seemed to be a perfect compliment to the cold December air.

Next, we made our way to the Christmas Box Angel statue on the other side of the cemetery. On the way there, in the parking lot, we found a table that offered free hot chocolate to the freezing visitor. My kids happily accepted.

The path to the statue was lit up by white paper bags with dirt in the bottom and a light on top of the dirt, creating an ethereal glow. At the statue, overhead lamps illuminated the general area. People gathered around the angel with an air of solemnity.

I have always believed in angels, but since Brittany died, I have pondered them much more. It makes sense to me that there are angels all around who help us more than we realize. From a close study of the bible we learn that angels were very much involved with the life of the Savior. Angels appeared to Zacharias, Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds before his birth. In Gethsemane, an angel appeared to Jesus and strengthened him. After his resurrection, when Mary Magdalene came to the sepulcher, “the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, an sat upon it. His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow.”

The Qur'an teaches that “[God] sends forth guardians who watch over you and carry away your souls without fail when death overtakes you. Then are all men restored to God, their true Lord.” And, “For every soul there is a guardian watching it.”

In 1986, a sinister couple held 136 children and 18 adults hostage at an elementary school in Cokeville, Wyoming, with intents of blowing up the school. The bomb went off prematurely, and miraculously the only people killed in the incident were the two hostage-takers. Many of the children reported seeing people “dressed in white” that instructed them what to do and then protected them at the time of the explosion. Some of these angels were later identified as close ancestors of the children.

Since Brittany's passing, my wife and I have had a few of our own sacred experiences when we knew there was divine intervention at a time when help was crucial. It would make sense that this help came from guardian angels, and it makes even more sense that one of these guardian angels would be my very own daughter!

It is interesting that before Brittany passed away, she loved to doodle many things, including Eiffel Towers, poodles, teenage girls, and angels. Once she drew an angel sitting on a plush cloud beside a crescent moon for her friend, Lauren. When Lauren showed us the picture shortly after Brittany died, we loved it so much that we had a semblance of it engraved onto her headstone.

Our first witness that our daughter was alive and well on the other side came during the graveside ceremony at the cemetery. It was been a typical cold day for December, with occasional snow flurries and a completely overcast sky. The sun hadn't been out all day.

Just before the dedication of the grave, we sang the hymn Silent Night, of which I had fond memories from singing it at my great-grandmother's December funeral in 1978. Now, as we sang the third verse, and precisely the words, Son of God, loves pure light, radiant beams from thy holy face . . . the sun came out from behind the clouds and radiated brightly and warmly for about fifteen seconds. I excitedly squeezed Jenelle's hand. That was our sign! By the time the verse was over, it moved back behind the clouds, never to come back out for the rest of the day.

There are over 120 Christmas Box Angels throughout the world, and as far as I know, the ceremony is always held on December 6, which is the same day that the little girl died in the Richard Paul Evans novel. This makes it even more special for us, because it is also the day that Brittany died.

The angel statue in Las Vegas stands upon a marble pedestal, with her arms held in front of her and a contemplative gaze toward the heavens. The Reverend Mary Bredlau made a few brief comments, and then turned time over to us (the people) to lay down our white roses, either in the arms of the angel, or at the feet.

Quietly and reverently, those who had lost children walked up to the statue and placed their white rose next to it. Some broke down in tears when they stepped away, obviously ripped with emotion for their loved one. One by one, I and my four kids placed our roses at the feet of the angel. Then Jenelle placed hers in the angel's arms.

We stepped back and watched others come forward. Next to me a black lady dressed in a pink coat and amber-colored stocking cap, stood with her toddler daughter. She knelt down, and began to encourage her to walk to the angel, explaining, “We give the angel a rose for -------, and then we say a prayer for him.”

While waiting, I discreetly slipped out and wandered through the nearby headstones. I noticed the grave of a twelve-year old girl. “How fortunate,” I thought, “that this girl is buried next to the angel statue.” But as I glanced around, I realized that there were many headstones for little children.

I leaned up to one of the ladies from the mortuary and asked her if this whole section belonged to children. “Yes,” she replied. “Over there,” she pointed to the other side of the statue, “is our baby section. Over here are those between the ages of two and eighteen who have died in innocence.”

As we spoke, the choir had been singing and were circled about, off to the side of the statue, close enough that we could hear them, but distant enough to not draw attention to themselves. They brought a soothing spirit to the gathering.

Then they sang their final carol of the night. My back quivered when I heard the melodic words of Silent Night come from their lips. Wrapped in my coat, with my kids at my side, I listened intently to the words of this sacred hymn. Then came the final verse:

Silent night! Holy night!

Son of God, loves pure light.

Radiant beams from thy holy face,

With the dawn of redeeming grace,

Jesus, Lord at thy birth; Jesus, Lord at thy birth.