Christmas- The Ultimate Comfort Zone

Before you really get started reading this column, close your eyes for just a minute, and picture yourself on Christmas morning. Really. I promise I’ll be here when you get back. One, two, three, close ‘em.

Open again? Okay. So where were you? What were you doing. What did you see, hear, smell?

I’ll share first. I am at my grandmother’s house. The house is quiet, except for my Granny’s humming as she cooks. I can hear the clicking of her basset hound’s toenails on the linoleum floor as she follows Granny around the kitchen. The smell of corned beef hash wafts through the living room. The little aluminum Christmas tree glows brightly in the reflected light of the round multi-colored light machine. Unwrapped toys still sit under the tree, with neatly folded bathrobes and slippers and other warm clothes nearby. We would have a quiet breakfast, just my Mom and sister and me and Granny (and Sam the Basset hound). Soon, my aunt and cousins will return for dinner and playing outside in the South Central Kansas snow.

Your memories are probably much different. But it is not hard to conjure up a Christmas memory. They stick and stay in our heads, and we bring them out when we need to be in a happy place.

 If I try again, and fast forward to when our kids were small, the scene will be similar. Some presents are unwrapped under an artificially green tree in our living room, but Santa’s special surprises: a Cabbage Patch doll, a Pound Puppy and a new pair of cowboy boots wait proudly for the first sleepy-head to emerge from the bedroom. I sit with my cup of hot tea and soak up the precious silence. Santa had come through once again, though my husband and I had wondered how he would manage with our meager paychecks. Outside, the Arkansas sun shines brightly, and I am actually thankful that there is no snow. Here in the foothills of the Ouachitas, slick roads would keep the grandparents from coming over later to watch the kids enjoy their new things. The big dinner the night before had been at their house, and I will most likely serve sandwiches today, along with any leftovers that might arrive with them. For now, heavenly peace.

 Yes, the faces around the tree change, the size and value of the presents vary, but there are constants. Things seem familiar, comfortable.

 Now that our kids are grown, our new normal is that we very rarely manage to have all of our offspring in the same room at the same time. We enjoy each one when we get to see them, no matter the date on the calendar. The tree goes up earlier, stays up longer, to accommodate their schedules. That is fine for me, as I have more of those quiet moments, more time to remember Christmases past.

 Not everyone adjusts to changes in the Christmas routine as easily. The same memories that bring us joy, also cause pain. The absence of familiar faces diminishes our joy. We need to be aware of this, and reach out to those who suffer during the holidays.

 The first Christmas was not comfortable for the young couple who had traveled a great distance to find a “No Vacancy” sign, and a baby who was born in a building intended for animals. They knew, though that something amazing was happening, having heard from angels, and visitors who came to gaze in amazement at the future king. This story is the constant that keeps Christmas so special for all of us. The realization that no matter what else happens in this world, God keeps His promises. Whether in a festive room full of friends and family, or alone in the flickering light of a fireplace, Christmas encourages us, prompts us to look around, to reach out to each other. Let’s remember the hope that filled that tiny, smelly stable so long ago. Comfortable or not, enjoy your Christmas celebration this year!

             

Christmas Collections

If we had our druthers, there would be two Christmas trees at our house each year. My husband’s would be elegantly appointed with beautiful, trendy decorations, probably all in the same color family. His might completely change from year to year. Mine, on the other hand, would display the same treasures I carefully store away at each year’s end. As I write this, they are still boxed up, but when you read it, they’ll be in a place of honor in the corner of our living room.

After thirty-five years of collecting, I have more ornaments than I can practically place on the tall but skinny imitation pine with plastic holly berries and fake twists of grapevine worked in. So, as I decorate, I’ll just pull some of the precious pieces out and pause for a moment as I place them back into their home for protection.

There are ornaments fashioned by my children when they were small. Created from ideas in craft books owned by a clever teacher, they may have started as a clothespin, or a jar lid. Paint, ribbon, glue and glitter transformed them into something wonderful, a tiny piece of a child’s heart. As they say in the credit card commercial: Priceless.

Then, there are the dated ornaments purchased over the years, one for each year of our married life. The designs reflect the times and the budget constraints of those years. Some celebrate a big event in our family- “Baby’s First Christmas”. Others were purchased at after Christmas sales. Each brings along a flood of been-there-done-that memories.

My mother has long upheld a tradition of making ornaments for our family’s trees. Hers show imagination and creativity, and always bring to mind the reasons for the season, love and family. I followed her lead for several years, so you’ll find some examples of my feeble attempts at craftiness. Teddy bears with ribbons and bells, scraps of leather with cut-outs from old Christmas cards, rings made from a special, inedible dough.

Not all of the ornaments are home-made or inexpensive. Otherwise, they’d all be relegated to the back of the tree by my “curb-appeal” conscious hubby. We do own some really nice ones, including part of a Norman Rockwell collection purchased by my step-mother sometime during the last century. There are also tributes to our favorite sports teams, and a few with Disney connections.

I must confess that my Christmas collecting isn’t confined to the tree. You’ll find memorable items displayed on almost every flat surface in the house. One, in an honored position on top of the dining room hutch, even belongs to my husband. Yes, he looks forward each year to seeing the Santa Claus doll (well, that’s what it is) his parents purchased for him on a Christmas shopping trip to Benton when he was small. It really is all about the happy memories this time of year.

One of my favorite Christmas stories brings home the fact that God is a collector, too. The difference is that, he desires to collect our souls for protection from the evils of this world, and to provide a permanent home with Him.

The story goes something like this: There was a man who was raised as a Christian, but had become cynical after years of existing in our rather self-absorbed world. While his wife and kids went to a Christmas Eve program at church, he stayed home, and watched out the window as a strong winter storm brewed. The wind howled, the cold blizzard raged, and he saw a large flock of birds battling the wind, looking for some form of refuge. He’d often enjoyed feeding and watching birds, and his heart was touched by their struggle. He glanced at the large barn that stood behind their house, and he was inspired. Bundling up, he hurried out to the building, threw open the door, and turned on the lights, hoping to lure the floundering creatures to safety. The flock continued to fly hither and yon, and none made their way into the warmth and protection of the barn. The man finally gave up and returned inside, leaving the door and lights as an open invitation.

When his family returned home, he told them of his efforts, and a strange realization touched him as he spoke these words: “If only I could have turned myself into a bird- then I could have guided them in ….”

This Christmas, as you collect happy memories, remember the perfect plan of your heavenly Father. He still wants to draw you closer. Let the baby in the manger be your guide.

Good Beginnings and Great New Starts

So, a new year is under way, and a new decade. Or did the new decade start last year? Regardless, it’s a time to look over our shoulder for a moment before marching boldly forward. With the fresh calendar page, we have a chance to clean the slate, grab a new piece of chalk, and begin to create something really great (with our erasers handy when we change our minds).

I’ve been thinking back on the great places and situations that gave me my start. I grew up with a Mom who refused to buy into the idea of a “broken home” and instead did everything possible to give me and my sister a firm foundation to carry us along in life. Our little town encouraged us with an emphasis on churches, schools, parks, concerts, parades. All of the things that make for a rich and happy childhood. We took advantage of everything that was free or affordable with a little planning and saving, and can now spend hours regaling anyone who wants to sit still long enough with countless happy tales.

After moving to Arkansas, I happened into a great place to spend my senior year of high school. At a recent reunion, I realized that Bryant was a good place for a great start in our adult lives. Attending school in a time before corporal punishment ended, we learned that life wasn’t always fair or easy, but together, we could survive and thrive. Our boundaries were clear, and consequences certain. We seemed to have emerged with a “can-do” spirit that still exists. There’s not a lot of “Why-me?”s heard in this group. It’s more often “Why not?” We don’t have a whole lot of famous or wealthy alums, but we certainly have some of the friendliest and most hard-working.

It’s probably no secret that each week of my life has a good beginning. I spend an hour or so on the first day worshipping with like minded people. The strength and happiness this provides cannot be measured. I understand those who say that they haven’t found a group where they “fit in”, but my answer is to keep trying. The process of taking the focus off of yourself and expressing thanks to the Source of your daily blessings seems to me to be the best way to prepare for the trials of the week to come.

Along those lines, our little congregation in Paron is making a very big new start this year. A new minister hopes to energize and motivate us to continue the good work that has been happening in that community for almost a hundred years. His name is in fact, Christmas. Very appropriate since that celebration commemorates the very best new beginning in the history of mankind.

Even our favorite college football team is getting in the happy New Start mode. For the first time in a very long time, we are close enough to the top of the polls to be listed among contenders for a National Championship. Our team will be celebrating the New Year a few days late in New Orleans, which is currently the center of a rebounding economy on the Gulf. It feels good to feel so good, for Razorback fans, and for residents of the Big Easy.

So what will you do with your fresh start? Are you full of hopeful plans for 2011? If not, take a look back to see what you can draw on from your past. Do you have a firm starting place by virtue of a good upbringing? If not, look around for someone you know who does. Talk to them about the source of their strength. They’ll most likely be glad to share, and may even steer you toward someone who can help.
This past summer, a Florida rainstorm trapped my grandson and me on a Disney ride with an annoying, but catchy song. It still populates our heads now and then, reminding us that “There’s a great big beautiful tomorrow, just a dream away!” Hope 2011 brings lots of great beginnings for you and yours.

Over the River and Through the Woods

The Waltons had it made. To clarify, I’m talking here about the TV family, not the multi-millionaires from NW Arkansas. Yes, when it comes to family unity and stability, having a great big house on top of a hill was a wonderful thing. Three generations living under one roof year-round meant that for holidays there was no question about the venue for a celebration. All roads led to Walton’s Mountain. Even during times of great hardship or war, all the members of the family had one goal, to arrive at Grandma’s table in time for Grandpa’s blessing before carving into Olivia’s perfectly cooked turkey.

Of course, real life has never been that simple.

About the middle of November, you’ll hear me start to spout some very familiar phrases. “The date on the calendar doesn’t really matter. We love seeing you anytime.” And then there’s the ever popular “Even if we can’t all be together at the same time, We’ll love having each of you.” Sigh.

These statements are actually very true, of course. And to be fair, our children don’t neglect us. We talk to them quite often, and have seen all of them as recently as last summer. It’s just that as the smell of freshly baked sugar cookies starts to fill the air, I have to repeat these things over and over to convince myself.

I blame the media.

Just when I’ve adjusted to seeing my kids and grands on a trickle in and out basis between Thanksgiving and Spring Break, one of those hokey commercials pops up on the television. You know the scene. The well-groomed family is gathering around a perfectly dressed table next to a beautiful Christmas tree. Everyone glances with a smile at the picture of the one missing member who can’t join them because they are… fill in the blank … off to college, defending our freedoms in the military, or serving as a missionary in Bora Bora.

The youngest members of the group are peering out the window through the gently falling snow trying to catch a glimpse of Santa’s sleigh. Just as Mom carries the antique gravy boat to the table, the doorbell rings. Dad opens the door, and Surprise! Wayward Child appears on the porch with his back pack and duffel bags full of dirty laundry (oops- I mean Christmas presents). Laughter, hugs, cut to the product logo.

What are they trying to sell? Don’t bother me with details.

An Eighties movie called “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” emphasizes our obsession with being home for the holidays. The characters played by Steve Martin and John Candy suffer all sorts of indignities before bonding and ultimately making it just in time for Thanksgiving dinner.

In our family, we’ve often tried to explain to our kids how difficult it is to make a journey to see each other. Our oldest grandson used to recite a little “How do we get there?” speech, which summarized the directions to his destination. He particularly liked the route to Uncle Jon’s, Uncle Chris and Aunt Kat’s houses- “Out on the highway, over the mountains, and through the tunnel” back in the Fayetteville days. Then, after he moved to Texas, the trip to see anyone was “Drive, drive, drive, Take a Nap, drive, drive, drive some more.”

Add to the logistics the fact that all of our little families have jobs and vacation schedules to juggle, and the realities of assembling in one spot on any given day become very difficult. I understand that perfectly, really I do.
Uh-oh. There’s another commercial, playing “I’ll be Home for Christmas.” Somebody turn that doggoned TV off.

After all, Christmas is not about me, anyway. It’s a time to be reminded of the great love our Heavenly Father demonstrated when he sent His Son to live here with us. Because of that great gift, we all have a chance to be together at home someday.
So, Good-night Grandpa, Good night, Mary Ellen, Goodnight Ben, and Merry Christmas John-Boy, wherever you are!

Christmas Regardless

It just wouldn’t be Christmas without  . . .  You fill in the blank. There are so many little parts that come together to form our holiday memories. These things become so special, that we think we can’t celebrate without them.

My husband and I were both raised with live Christmas trees in our house every year. For him, the decorating process started with a trip to the woods to cut down a fresh cedar tree, which grow in abundance in the Ouachita area. As a small-town girl, a trip to the local tree lot served the same purpose. When we married, it was a given that our living room would have to be rearranged to make a spot for this traditional symbol of celebration. More memorable than any other, though was the last live tree we had as a couple.

That year, James and his best friend (and best man at our wedding), Raymond traveled to the family’s property in Perry County. After hiking around to find two of the best specimens, they were enjoying the camaraderie. Until the truck got stuck. We’re not talking about a temporary, spin your wheels event here. This truck was down in the mud with no hope of emerging stuck. Raymond became acquainted with many of James’ relatives that day, as all tried everything they could to dislodge the vehicle and get it back on the road. The little cabin on the property was not heated, so between tries, the only way to warm up was for the two young men to sit with their feet propped on the open electric oven door. Meanwhile, Raymond’s new wife and I were in pre-cell phone oblivion, happily baking cookies at home. As I remember, James didn’t even bring our last live tree in the house when he finally arrived. It was propped rather unceremoniously in the front yard. We went to Wal-Mart and purchased our first artificial model.

At my Granny’s house, the tree was quite different. Purchased in the early sixties, it was the shiny aluminum table top variety. It was decorated rather sparsely, with of course no electric lights and no need for tinsel. The magic happened at night, when the accompanying color wheel was plugged in, and it went through variations of red, green, blue, and gold. Of course, for me and my cousins, the tree was secondary to the pile of presents that surrounded and sometimes obscured it completely. The first Christmas she didn’t put that tree up was a huge adjustment for me, and I miss it, along with the angel-topped wind-up music box, and the tinkling candle-powered mobile that always sat at a safe distance.

For children, the type of tree may not be the most important memory at all. Our oldest grandson has a special favorite. Each time he comes to our house, he looks for Tigger in a box. When he doesn’t find it, we discuss the concept of “seasonal” decorations, and how Tigger will be displayed at the appropriate time.  This cheerful contraption sits on my dining room hutch, looking like an innocent but brightly decorated package. By pressing the button, you get the Disney version of A.A. Milne’s bouncy character with such gems of wisdom as “Hello, I’m your Christ-ee-mas present”, as he pops up and then back inside the box with a snap. The two younger grands have enjoyed this as well, and consequently, the mechanical parts are wearing out.  It soon may be time to retire Tigger and start a new tradition, form some new memories.

Years go by, celebrations change. We miss some faces around the tree. But through it all, Christmas continues. Whether we celebrate on the 24^th, the 25^th, or even some other day, the meaning and reason for it all remains constant. Once upon a time, seeing our desperate need, God decided to come down, in the person of His son, to help us. We celebrate, the hope, the assurance that we can find our way Home at the end of our journey. Christmas happens, no matter what. No matter how, or even if, we choose to celebrate. God’s wonderful gift is there for all. Have a truly blessed Christmas.