Christmas Memories

Last night I went and picked up a book that was being held for me at the local library.  "Becky's Christmas" by Tasha Tudor.  I have been enjoying Tasha for a long time, but recently I have been consumed with curiosity about her and how she chose to live her life.  And one of the ways I do that is by ordering any and every book by her that I can get my hands on through the library.  A perennial favorite for me is "The Doll's Christmas" as well as her Valentine's Day anthology, "All for Love" and her Christmas Anthology, "Take Joy."

I started to read through Becky's Christmas this morning, and found for some reason that it was making me choke up a bit.  And then at lunch, I heard about the shooting in the elementary school in Connecticut.  And my heart aches.  So, I am listening to JJ Heller's newest CD sampler (which she is offering for free in hopes that it will minister and comfort some of those who are grieving and asking why?) while watching the afternoon sun as it sinks down towards the horizon and how it paints the white scarred bark of the Birch trees outside my window.  And I am remembering Christmases past.  And my Father.

Christmas never started in our family until the weekend after Thanksgiving.  The day after Thanksgiving, the Christmas music would be brought down out of the attic and dusted off.  It always seemed like Christmas began that day.

After we had moved to the Farm, to Red Lantern Farm, we would go the weekend after Christmas and cut out Christmas Tree.  Every year it turned into a competition to see who could find the perfect tree.  We always got White Pines because they don't shed their needles all over the floor.  Usually, William or Anna would find that just perfect tree.  Dad always had the final say, though.  We would cut the tree down and return home with bags of popcorn and puppy chow.

Dad had built a train table with double tracks and it ran with Christmas boxcars all season long.  All of our Christmas ornaments hung, the twinkle lights wrapped around the trunk and the colored bulbs wrapped around the outside of the tree, I remember lying on the floor underneath the tree and reading "James and the Giant Peach" when I was in 3rd grade.

Next celebration occured on December 6th, St. Nicholas Day.  We used wooden shoes instead of stockings and these would be set outside on the back porch for St. Nicholas.  I remember receiving a Christmas CD, a few Chocolates, a Clementine and usually a candy cane.

As a child my favorite Christmas celebration was St. Lucia Day.  We started to celebrate this Swedish Holiday after I had read the American Girl Doll books about Kirstine Carlson.  I know that the reason we did was because my mother was trying to get us away from the commercialism that Christmas has come to symbolize in our culture today.

That first year, I donned the white gown with whispered words in the bathroom by candlelight.  The wreath (made of artifical garlands) was itchy on my head and the battery pack pocket on the back of my dress was heavy with the 2 "D" batteries it took to light the electric lights in the wreath.  I had the red ribbon wrapped around my waist and with the candle went into my Brother's and sister's rooms and woke them up with "Saint Lucia invites you to breakfast."

We then went and ate an early breakfast of St. Lucia buns (sweet buns with raisins, not the traditional saffron buns, I now know) in the traditional shape, and had hot chocolate.  I don't remember what else we ate, but I remember the magic of that moment, standing in the dark, with the lit candle and the itchy wreath on my head.  Even now, I smile.

After that, things settled down a bit until Christmas Eve.  When I was younger and we were attending Zwingli UCC in Monticello, Christmas Eve involved attending the Christmas Eve service and following Cantata/candlelit service.  As I got older, I sang in the Cantata.  We'd be out until close to midnight, praising the Lord and telling the Christmas story through song.  My brothers were often Ushers at the services, lighting the candles in their white robes, while my youngest sister Rose would fall asleep (usually) being very small at the time.

Christmas morning would dawn, with the usual clamor to rise.  We would wait on the stairs, the door at the bottom being closed, until Mom & Dad had finished the final preparations and stood with camera in hand.  Then we would go and open our "stockings" or rather wooden shoes.  Afterwards, it was time for breakfast.  Over the years that meal progressed to omelets and Galaxy Donuts, with Clementines and bacon.  Or Finish Pancakes/German Apple Pancakes.  After that we would all gather together and Dad would reveal his code.  He wrapped all of the major presents, with a code all his own of which present went to which child.  Sometimes it was the wrapping paper, sometimes the color of the bows on the presents.  But there were no name tags.  And occasionally there were go-fetches for larger items, done in a hide and seek kind of way, leading you all around the house.  There was no disordered chaos of ripping presents open, instead we would either go eldest-youngest or youngest-eldest, and everyone would get to open one present at a time.

As I was mixing up sugar cookie dough and gingerbread cookie dough, the missing hit me.  I know that he wasn't perfect, but he was my Daddy.  A man who dreamed big dreams (I guess that is where I get it from) and loved us all as best he knew how.  He knew how to make Christmas special, and I think that is what touched me so much as I read "Becky's Christmas" today.  The magic, the family time, the joy in simple things.  These are the things that I am afraid of losing.  And that is something that Tasha Tudor managed to hold on to for her entire life.  I want to remind the world of the Magic of Christmas.

God sent his Son, Jesus Christ, to us on Christmas.  Whether it was literally December 25th (which I doubt) or some other day, that doesn't matter.  The fact of the matter is that it happened.  Sometime, roughly 2,000 years ago a baby was born in a stable.  And that Baby was Jesus Christ.  He was born to reconcile us with God, so that we could experience that loving relationship that God longs to have with us.  And no, he doesn't promise health, wealth and happiness.  But he does promise eternal life with him in Heaven.  And I don't know about you but that sounds pretty darn good to me.  To be reunited with my earthly father, and spend eternity with my Heavenly Father in paradise?  Yes please.  I know that the path is narrow and difficult.  It isn't easy giving up what I want for what he wants.  And I truthfully and not very good at that.  But he is patient and forgiving.  He loves us with an Everlasting Love!

What beautiful mystery, what love!  To send his Only Son to us, to save us, to know that he was going to die one of the MOST painful deaths that the Romans had devised, a way reserved for the cruelest of criminals.  Just so that we can come close to him, to live in relationship with him.

So, while I sit here with the bittersweet ache of missing my earthly Daddy this Christmas Season, I know that I will get to see him again some day.  And until then, Merry Christmas Daddy!  I love you!