My favorite Christmas memory
When I think back to the Christmases of my childhood, I always smile at one particular memory. Our family would gather at one of my aunt’s homes on Christmas Eve. We would enjoy a lavish potluck dinner with the host providing the main course while everyone else brought side dishes and desserts. Afterward, we would mingle to catch up on family news—coming babies, recent graduations or promotions and other milestones, small or grand. At some point during the evening, the families would separate to attend church services at their own particular denomination. But beforehand, the children would anxiously await the arrival of one special secular guest—Santa Claus. My uncle would dress up in full costume and arrive with great fanfare down the staircase. (His sleigh and reindeer stayed on the roof.) Over his shoulder he carried a velvet sack filled with wrapped gifts for all the good girls and boys from infants through college-aged. Surprisingly, the sack contained even a present for me.
Apparently, I was the last child to still believe in Santa Claus after my cousins had abandoned the notion and discovered the truth about the man-in-red.
But my mother and aunts didn’t want anyone to spoil my fun, so they instructed everyone to keep quiet about who really wore that silken beard of white. Since I was the youngest of my generation my cousins played along, and yours-truly continued to believe the myth longer than average. However, someone at school or perhaps a neighborhood kid finally burst my bubble. Once I overcame my initial shock I thought about how happy people were that I still believed. And so I played along, becoming wide-eyed and anticipatory when that jolly man arrived every Christmas Eve. People watched my reaction from the corner of their eyes, pleased that the deception continued for another year. Finally (perhaps the year before I started college…) when Santa arrived and presented this little girl with her treasure, I had so say “Hi, Uncle Louie. Thanks for the gift.”
Everyone moaned, and my mother looked broken-hearted, but all good things must come to an end. Now that my mom and uncle are gone, I will remember the joy they preserved for me because of their love. And because of the unending love of the Father and the gift of His son…once again I have something to believe in. Merry Christmas. May God’s blessings rain down on you and your families.
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What a nice story from your childhood. : ) Yes, the Father and the gift of His son is something we all can hold onto and believe in year round.
Would love to read Sarah’s Christmas Miracle! Lisa
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When my granny made me a coat of many colors. We were poor but the coat was warm, had a pocket on both sides for my hands cause I had no gloves. Wrapped plastic in hands an put in pockets. But I was happy as a lark. Thank you Jesus!!!!!
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We always ended up at my Aunt Bertha’s house when I was a kid. All of us cousins would get together and play games all day long. Stopping only long enough to eat! Those were the days! We weren’t rich but we had each other, family and the Love of Jesus!
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