I have so many precious memories of this, my favorite holiday, both recent and long, long ago.
I grew up in the small town of Northport, Washington, about 9 miles south of the Canadian border. My folks ran a motel, and our living space was very small, although that never bothered me much.
Christmas.
Where to start?
When my brother, Jerry, and I were still believing in Santa, we used to try to creep out in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, hoping to scan the goodies under the tree on the far side of the living room.
Trouble was, there was a sliding door in between two parts of the home, and it creaked whenever it was opened or closed.
Jerry and I plotted. Decided we would grease the hinges while no one was looking and get a look at the presents without being ordered back to bed.
That never worked.
Mom could hear a mouse breathing.
All the same, Christmas was magical, both at home and in the community.
We always trekked up into the snowy woods to find just the right tree, hauling it home in on top of our 55 Chevy Bel Air.
It bothered Jerry and me that we had to leave it outside for many hours, so it would dry. Eventually, though, Dad would bring it inside, set it in the tree stand, and start untangling strands of bubble lights—still my favorite decoration today—while Mom opened boxes of carefully wrapped ornaments.
We always finished off the decorations with strands of tinsel.
I know the stuff is messy, but in the evenings, with the room darkened and the tree lights bubbling and glowing away, and the many-colored balls shining, the way it shimmered was, to repeat myself, magical.
And the smell of fresh pine was heavenly.
When Christmas morning finally dawned, Jerry and I were going through the home-sewn stockings we’d hung up the night before, now full of loot, and always with an orange to fill the toe.
Mom and Dad weren’t rich, not by a long shot, but Mom probably started planning our gifts in the summer, because she always found such great stuff.
After more than 60 years, I still recall opening my stocking to find a silver cross necklace, gleaming in the early morning light. I treasured that necklace.
For us, Christmas included church. Mom and I went to the midnight service every year, and I remember coming outside after worship into the cold, ice-frosted winter night. Every tree seemed sketched with liquid diamonds, and there was something so sacred about the silence.
Now, since I’m living happily in Southern California, there will be no frost or snow, but my tree is decorated and my heart is ready to celebrate the best gift ever given—our Lord, Jesus Christ.
It is my prayer that this holiday finds all of you full of happiness.
God bless you, one and all.
