Visions of childhood memories dance in my head...

Real Christmas trees were not one of several options when I was a little girl. They were the only option. I don’t recall many trips to pick out the tree. I do remember the ones that came home were always perfect. We didn’t get living trees very often because they were usually small. One actually survived our holiday and was planted in our front lawn. Over several decades it grew to be well over 35 feet tall. It was a beautiful reminder of Christmas, even in mid-summer.

The weeks of Advent leading up to Christmas were all about surprises.  My brother, sister and I would not dare search the house for gifts, even in our teens. Why? We loved the surprises as much as our parents liked preparing them. The aroma of fresh baked cookies met you at the front door many days. My mom is a fabulous cook but she was never much of a baker. Baking to prepare for visiting friends and relatives was a fun treat.  Of course, our preparation was also filled with the four special services at church when the Advent candles were lit, the choir cantata, and the candlelight Christmas Eve service.  We all happily anticipated the celebration of the day when Jesus was born.

The biggest surprise of all was Christmas morning. I don’t know where the tradition began in our ancestry, but it made quite an impact in our family.  You see, in our family, we didn’t trim the tree together.

When my brother, sister and I went to bed on Christmas Eve, there was no tree twinkling us goodnight. It was empty and cold in the garage. House decorations were not set out.  When we climbed those steps, our minds jumbling with ideas and pictures of what the morning would bring, we went willingly. It was Santa’s job not only to bring the gifts, but also to decorate the house, and bring the tree inside to decorate it, too. “Go to sleep quickly,” my parents would admonish with a bit of hope in their tone. “Santa has a lot of work to do and we don’t want to hold him up.”

Whoever was first to awaken, always much earlier than any other day, rushed to the bedside of a sleeping sibling and not too quietly announced, “It’s Christmas! Get up!”  We’d wake the last sleeper the same way, sometimes bouncing on them until a smile peeked out from a sleepy face. The anticipation continued to mount because next step was not to run to the living room. No. We ran to the bedroom over our parents’ room and began jumping on the floor to wake them. You see, the surprises in the living room were not only for the kids. As we waited for Mommy and Daddy to stir, we abandoned ourselves to giddy laughter.

After what seemed to be hours, but you know was only minutes, we heard tired voices from under our feet, “Okay. Okay. We’re up. We’re checking.” And that’s when our feet began to lightly dance in uncontrollable excitement because they were checking to see if Santa had visited in the night.  A few minutes later our hearts leaped to the words, “Yes! He was here,” from downstairs.

We ran to the top of the steps. “Merry Christmas!” Mommy and Daddy called in unison, smiling broadly from the bottom of the stairwell.

Racing down the steps, we still made ourselves stop midway because the dazzling scene before us was awesome. Even as children, it took our breath away. The house was like a Christmas wonderland of decorations. And, oh the radiant Christmas tree. It sparkled with countless colors reflecting off silver tinsel; grandly magnificent, even to three youngsters.  Pausing gave Daddy a chance to grab our picture with his waiting camera. And that’s about the time our eyes landed on the presents of every size and shape wrapped in silver and gold and topped with gorgeous ribbons, and fat stockings hanging nearby.

Practically tumbling down the remainder of the steps, one of us would always head to the place we had left the milk and cookies. “Look! The cookies and milk are gone.”  That was the final clue that this beautiful sight truly was brought to us by Santa. We would all smile at each other as we pictured the great red-suited man gratefully taking a breather after all that work, munching on our snack.

So began a morning of animated oohs and aaahs and “I can’t believe its”. We were as happy for each other’s gifts as those we received which multiplied our own joy.

Many times as an adult I try to imagine how the shepherds felt when the sky was swept with brilliant light as angels descended to announce the good news of the birth of God as man.  The awestruck children that we were experienced a vaguely similar amazement that cannot be described. I give thanks to God for His great Gift that fills us with love and causes us to know greater joy when we give to others.

This is Christmas.

Note:

Years later I understood why my mom always looked so doggoned tired as she smiled and shared our merriment rather quietly. She consumed cup after unending cup of coffee.  Thank you, Mommy and Daddy, for making Christmas so special for our family.  That childish excitement as we prepare hearts and homes for Jesus’ birthday lives in me still.

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