Christmas is a time for memories. Obviously, it’s primary purpose, one that is often neglected, is to remind us of the coming of the Messiah, the means by which God provided salvation for sinful mankind. But it is also a time for remembering long-lost joys and relationships that have made Christmases past so sweet.
As a child, my most vivid memory is of the uncertain nature of when ‘Santa’ would come to our house. My dad pastored a small church in Racine, Wisconsin and each year we would load up the car on the Monday after the Sunday before Christmas and we would make our way south. We would make a short stop in Paducah, Kentucky, where my mother’s family would gather, then we would go on to Center, Texas for Christmas with my dad’s family. We would miss one Sunday and get back right before the next, giving us almost two weeks to make the trek. Because of this tradition, I never spent Christmas morning in my own home until the year after I graduated from college and spent Christmas alone in Spokane, WA, 2000 miles away from the rest of the family.
Because we would always be away from home on Christmas morning, ‘Santa’ had to find us at home sometime before we left so that we could get our presents, so it was always an anxious time as we drew closer to the day of our departure as to when ‘Santa’ would come. Sometimes we would wake up on Saturday morning before our departure and our gifts would be there, spread out on the living room floor. At other times, Dad would say, “Hey, let’s go look at the pretty Christmas lights down at the lakeshore, and we would all pile in the car. Just before we would leave, Mom would have to go back inside for something that she forgot. When we got home from looking at the lights, the Jolly old Elf would have made his appearance and the presents would be there under the tree. That feeling of imminent expectation was one that I will never forget and is my best reference when I think of how my heart should flutter at the certainty of His promise yet uncertainty of the timing when it comes to Christ’s return.
The next thing that comes to mind when I think of Christmas is just a simple expression without a spoken word. It is the look on my grandfather’s face whenever we were gathered at his house on Christmas. He was a quiet man, mostly because it was hard to get a word in edge-wise around that house. The gift of gab is a dominant genetic characteristic of the Hughes clan. We would gather in my great-grandmother’s room, around the fireplace, and talk and laugh and cut up, and Papaw would sit in the corner and watch and listen and just smile. He was at peace and everything was right with the world, because he had his whole family around him. When I think of what heaven will be like, I can’t help but wonder if there won’t be a familiar taste of that spirit of love, joy and peace.
One more thing that comes to my mind at this time of year is the feeling that I had that one Christmas, mentioned earlier, out of my 52 Christmases, that I spent away from family and home. I had just turned 21, I was over my head in a job that I was unprepared for, and I was thousands of miles from the familiar. I went outside of town to a friend’s acreage and cut the top out of a fir tree, thinking that it would be a good Christmas tree. It more closely resembled a Christmas shrub. Charlie Brown had nothing on me. When all was said and done, friends from church invited me over for Christmas dinner and I enjoyed the fellowship, but for the first time in my life I understood what so many others feel at this time of year who are alone at Christmas time. The soldier off to war, the homeless on the street, the prodigal far from home, I got just a little taste of how they feel and I never have forgotten it.
These days, our Christmas traditions have changed a bit. With Mom and Dad now living with us, Christmas comes to us. We always go to my sister’s in Fayetteville for Christmas Eve, have dinner together and then go walk around the old town square, then we make our way home for Christmas morning and the family gathering Christmas afternoon. But it is really hard for me to wait to open presents, so I am always trying to figure out a way to convince Santa to come early but Shelley is a little bit more of a traditionalist (i.e. grown-up).
I am thankful for the memories that still remain. Instead of mourning the loss of those who are no longer with us, I relish the times that we shared. Instead of regretting what is no more, I look to and long for that which one day will be again, when we gather around the throne in heaven and witness God’s contented smile and realize that no one will ever be alone for Christmas again.
