CHRISTMAS PAST

What’s your best Christmas memory? What year was the happiest Christmas for you? As I think about my own answer, I recognize the challenge this presents. I’ve had 48 Christmases so far. Which one was the best? That’s hard to say. It certainly had to be before anyone in my life ever died. It was also before divorce. It was before I equated shopping and decorating and wrapping with work. It was definitely before my parents bought their first artificial tree. And before my best friend moved to California. It was before 3rd grade when a girl in my class blurted out that Santa wasn’t real and that my parents tricked me every year by getting all those gifts for me. It had to be way back in my childhood before the magic and awe of the holiday left me. Yes. Before all of this real living, Christmas was amazing! Don’t you have a Christmas in your past that you can call amazing?

I am having a hard time keeping the amazing part of Christmas a reality. Instead, for too many of my adult Christmases I have ruminated over the sad memories of the holiday. I remember the Christmases when I was grieving and unable to put ornaments on my tree. Lights were enough. I remember the Christmases filled with illness and empty bank accounts. Or the Christmas I spent packing, moving, and unpacking or the one when I was unemployed. And I’ve allowed those difficult years to affect the Christmas in my present. The question is: why can’t the memories of those terrific Christmases be my focus? Let me try.  

In my family, we celebrate the holiday on Christmas Eve, not Christmas Day. So, when I talk about my favorite Christmas memories, they are all about the night before Christmas. Before life happened, Christmas night was always the most special of the year. My Mom would dress us all fancy — bows in my hair, patent leather shoes with buckles, a new frilly dress, and the all-important slip underneath. It was rare that I was given the option of wearing a slip. Slips were worn under dresses on special days. My Dad wore a tie and a tie clip, something carpet mechanics don’t wear day-to-day. My Mom teased her hair and put on makeup and high-heels. She had festive napkins and tablecloths ready for company. Scented candles were lit and placed in choice locations around the house. A buffet dinner was set out that everyone could pick at all night, visiting the spread as often as they were hungry and only put away once everyone had gone. I remember how good all the food smelled. A stack of Christmas albums on the stereo played as guests arrived wearing uncharacteristic perfumes and colognes, their best clothes on for the occasion.  

I spent a good part of Christmas Eve as a child playing with the plastic manger set that was put out for this time of year only. It had a tiny plastic manger with painted lines on it to signify hay. And there were little figures of Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus.. My Mom still sets it out every year.  It made me smile with a lump in my throat to see the Holy Family displayed again even this year on my Mom’s tiny table. I feel emotional about this cheaply made ordinary decoration because it represents what I used to love about the holiday: the simplicity of make-believe stories created to give voices to Jospeh and Mary as they cared for their new infant son. The figures don’t have movable parts or clothes that can be changed. They are just still, frozen in their adoring poses. Yet, they came to life for me each Christmas Eve as my tiny hands jumped their walking bodies along the couch and across the floor on their yearly trek to Bethlehem. I was raised up in the church. I knew the story of how Mary and Joseph had no place to sleep on the night that Jesus was born, how they wound up in a barn with animals and hay for a bed. As a young girl, I didn’t have any questions about it. It was a story I knew was real. And I liked it. I felt good knowing that Baby Jesus turned into the Savior that lived in my heart. Easy. Simple truth.  

Later in the evening when we had eaten dinner already, my brother and I would pose for pictures in our matching pajamas, the one gift we were allowed to open, the one gift we were told was from our parents. We were sent to bed at around 7:30 pm while the adults turned the music up and told loud stories and jokes. They drank and ate and laughed with the occasional shoosh-ing meant to keep the noise down to help us kids sleep better. The quiet never lasted more than a moment, though.  

I would lay awake in my bed listening to all of this with a smile on my face that felt good in my heart. I listened a long while. I tried to stay awake. I’d been reminded already to get to sleep so that Santa could deliver the presents. I knew I’d better try to sleep, but there was a party out there, and I wanted to be awake. I couldn’t help but repeat the song in my head, “Jump in bed and cover up your head ‘cause Santa Claus comes tonight, tonight” and feel the power of the one magical night that the lyrics were actually true! The joy in the pine-scented air of my house was palpable. The guests all felt it. My parents felt it. Billy and I felt it, too. No other night of the year felt this good, and that was true even before we had a visit from the guy in the red suit.  

Eventually, though we tried our best to stay up, sleep had its way with both me and my brother. We fell into such a deep sleep that once midnight rolled around, the official  start of Christmas morning, it was hard for our parents to wake us. Traditionally, the children are awakened at midnight to open gifts. The sleepy-eyed polaroids attest to the fact that we certainly upheld this tradition in our home.  

Slowly, the words they were saying amidst the noise of our company began to sink in. “Santa came!  He just left! Wait til you see what’s under the tree for you! There are so many presents! It’s time to open them up!” And they guided two groggy kids toward the living room with their cameras and flash bulbs ready to snap a picture of our first glance at the tree. That was the coolest thing! That first glance at the tree was just over-the-top outrageous! The wonder and the surprise of the stacks of colored paper and tissue woke us up pretty quickly. It’s hard to forget the feeling of that first sight of the tree piled high with gifts. Twinkling lights, candlelight and sparkling 70’s tinsel added to the magic. The sounds of laughter and happiness and music filled the house as we became the center of attention.  

One after another, the gifts were handed to us for unwrapping. And we tore them open! We weren’t shy about it. The sound of the ripping and crumpling of paper overpowered the adult chatter and the Elvis music. I remember needing to shout over it all to say, “Mom!  Look what I got!” completely believing that my mother was as surprised as I was to see what Santa had left for me. She always seemed surprised to me. Simultaneously, Billy was doing the same thing. And we couldn’t keep track of one another really. I often had no idea what his favorite gifts were until the next day.  

So, what happened? How did I lose this feeling, this love for Christmas Eve? I suppose it got chipped away by disappointments and sorrow. Responsibilities overwhelmed me when my own kids were little. The holiday became theirs, and it was now my job to make sure they felt that same wonder. But why do that? Is the wonder a lie? Is it a passing fancy that we are meant to grow out of? No. It isn’t. Because that feeling isn’t meant to be temporary, and it’s not supposed to be only for children. A wise man urged me today to consider the present Christmas in light of my best ones ever. He said to focus on the magical feeling that I once experienced, to recognize that it’s different now only because I allow it to be. Christmas is still a beautiful time. Christmas Eve still holds the anticipation of fun and laughter. And it’s certainly still about a Savior being born to humanity and the celebration of the Hope that He brought to the world. The Nativity isn’t just a toy. And its meaning doesn’t fade with time either. The lessons of faith in God’s redeeming love for us when He sent His Son to earth are lasting, too. All of these are the happy thoughts I want to keep close to my heart this Christmas season. These are the moments I’m choosing to remember this year. I pray my family can feel this way about our holiday together in the present. I want them to stay fixated on the wonder of a childlike Christmas experience, no matter how much they grow. I pray this be true for you and yours this Christmas as well. May we all have a truly Merry Christmas.

Please consider sharing your best holiday memories in the comments below.