Two young boys, twelvish or so from down the street were hiding from their brother, and asked if they could hang out with me in my garage as I cleaned it, so I gladly obliged. I know their dad, and we have a friendly relationship, so the boys set out asking about this and that. We talked about hunting, as they hunt with their dad, and they knew I hunt also. I asked how their Christmas was, and they told me that they don’t celebrate it. They said it very matter of factly, and I noted that they weren’t uncomfortable, as though they felt they were missing out or anything. I know their folks are very religious and conservative, and that the women all wear skirts always, but that is all I know. For some reason, I thought about this a lot this past week, Christmas and its meaning.
I have lights up all over my house, deer in the yard, snowman on the hill and an angel on top of the tree. There is a wreath on the door, and a garland around it, not to mention all of the other seasonal decorations that go with this season that we drag out every year. I must confess, even at my age, I love to sit in the dark house with the tree lit up and just rest on the couch with only the glow of the tree. It summons up memories of warmth and happiness for me, times of family gathered around, smiling and having a good time.
I can sit there and even let my mind go back even farther to a time when I was in a small bedroom down a small hallway, lying awake in the middle of the night awaiting the sound of hoofs on the roof. Not for a moment doubting that Saint Nick would come, but knowing and fearing that his milk would get too warm before he got there, sitting out on the counter all night, and that he would not like it. Then I heard it, the hoof beats on the roof as my eyes flew wide open and my heart beat faster, never once suspecting it was two goofy teenaged brothers on the roof running above my room for effect. I threw my curtains wide looking for some sign that the reindeer train was on the roof, something, a shadow or something but was only greeted with darkness.
I sneaked to the door and edged it open, only to be greeted by my smiling father who whispered “I think he is coming, you better get back in bed or he will leave you coal”. I turned and jumped under the covers, not about to blow everything because of my curiosity, although it sure would be nice to just see him once. I lay there, and thought I would never go to sleep as my mind raced and I heard noises coming from the living room, as Santa and his helpers filled our stockings with candy and brought a present from the North Pole. Somewhere along the line though, sleep did come, and I drifted off to dreamland until early the next morning.
I don’t know whether I woke my brothers up, or they woke me up, but I still remember going into the living room. It was still dark outside, and the reds and greens of the Christmas lights and tree bulbs seem especially bright in my memory. There, under the tree, Santa had left me a beautiful brand new bright red tricycle with cool streamers from the hand grips. I remember how happy I was with that, how amazed I was that he had carried that all the way from the North Pole. That was about 44 years ago, and it is still vivid in my memory although I don’t know how.
I look on the tree, and I see an ornament that I made for Ivy, my youngest. She saw a picture one day in a magazine of a cat that looked like a cat we used to have named Niles, and she wanted me to cut the picture out and make an ornament out of it, so we did. It has hung on the tree every year since, and she was about four then, now she is sixteen. Looking at the tree, every ornament has a story, our first year as a new family, a new ornament for each year, an ornament for each of the girls; it is hard not to get sentimental when looking at them all because each one represents a memory. I think families being close and loving one another is good, God approves of that.
I have to wonder how Jesus feels about all the hoopla we put on about Christmas though. When He came, there was no place for His mother Mary to rest and give birth, so she had to go to a barn, a stable. Jesus was born on a pile of hay in a stable, in the most humble of circumstances possible. He could have come in with a bang if He had wanted, yet He chose humility. 
This Christmas was very busy and challenging for me as I am sure it was for all of you. I have to ask myself something though, although I have very fond memories of Saint Nick and his reindeer, how did that ever get associated with the birth of Christ? I honestly have no idea. I love the image and idea of Jolly old Saint Nick, but I have no clue about where any of that even came from. It was a legend I was raised with about misfit toys and a reindeer with a red nose narrated by Burl Ives, or the Grinch, it just “was”.
To me, it is almost as though the legendary yet commercial Christmas gets bigger and bigger every year, and it strives to overpower the true meaning of Christmas, that a Savior is born. This Christmas, one of my brothers at church became homeless, and came to me for help. I helped him, but I didn’t have everything I needed to keep the man afloat. We were able to get him help through the church, and he is okay now, but I struggled with my feelings toward the more commercial Christmas afterward.
I hope that this Christmas season was the very best of times for you, and that you made memories that will last for a lifetime. I hope as you celebrate Christmases in years to come that you will always remember to place Christ first and foremost in all that you do. God Bless-JFT
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