Posted on 12/17/2001 10:44:49 AM PST by 2nd_Ammendment_Defender
I have been thinking about what makes Christmas such a great time in our lives. I am old enough to remember many Christmases. They have all been glorious. But I have learned that it isn't just the presents that make them great.
The Happiest Christmas of My Childhood
When I was a young boy, our family was terribly poor. Father had no job because he was going through law school at the University of Utah. He had a wife and three young sons. Grandfather and Grandmother knew that we would have no Christmas if we did not come down to the farm in Millard County. So all of our family took the train from Salt Lake to Leamington, Utah. Where the money came for the tickets, I will never know.
Grandfather and Uncle Esdras met us at the railroad crossing in Leamington with a team of big horses to pull the open sleigh through the deep snow to Oak City. It was so cold that the huge horses had icy chin whiskers, and you could see their breath. I remember how old Jack Frost nipped my nose, and the extreme cold made it hard to breathe. Grandmother had heated some rocks and put them in the bottom of the sleigh to help keep us warm. We were wrapped and tucked into some heavy camp quilts with just our noses sticking out. Accompanied by the tinkle of bells on leather straps on the harnesses of the horses, we musically traveled from Leamington over the 10 miles to Oak City, where our beloved grandfather and grandmother lived. So many dear ones were there that we could hardly wait to arrive. When we got there it was warm and wonderful and exciting.
In the corner of the living room was the Christmas tree, a cedar cut from the hillside pasture. It was already partially decorated by Mother Nature with little berries that helped give it a strong smell. Our decorations were popcorn strings made by pushing a needle and thread through popcorn. The strings had to be handled carefully or they would break and strew popcorn all over the floor.
We also had paper chains to put on the tree, made by cutting up old Sears and Montgomery Ward catalogs with the paper links pasted together with flour paste. The sticky flour paste got all over our hands, faces, and clothes. I wonder why they didn't put sugar in it! With cream it could also have been served for mush.
I do not remember any presents under the tree. Under the tree were popcorn balls made with strong, homemade molasses. When we bit into the popcorn balls, it felt like they were biting back.
On Christmas Eve we all gathered around the woodstove, enjoying the warm comfort of the fire and the pleasant aroma of the burning cedar wood. One of the uncles gave the opening prayer. We sang carols and hymns. One of our aunts read of the birth of Jesus and of the "good tidings of great joy" (Luke 2:10). "For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord" (Luke 2:11). Grandfather and Grandmother then told us how much they loved us.
The next day was Christmas, and we had a glorious dinner. But before we ate, we all got down on our knees for family prayer. I was so hungry. Grandfather prayed for the longest time. You see, he had much to pray for. He prayed for moisture because there was a drought in the land, and the crops had been meager. The fall grain had been planted in the dusty ground. What harvest there was could not be sold for much because of the low prices caused by the Great Depression. The taxes on the farm were delinquent because there was no money to pay them. He also prayed for our large family, his cattle and horses, pigs and chickens, turkeys—he prayed over everything.
During Grandfather's long prayer, my youngest uncle became restless and gave me an irreverent pinch, hoping that I would shout to make things more exciting.
For dinner we had a huge tom turkey stuffed with delicious dressing. There was no celery in the dressing because we had only the ingredients that could be produced on the farm. But the dressing had plenty of bread, sage, sausage, and onions. There was an abundance of potatoes and gravy and pickles, beets, beans, and corn. Because Grandfather could trade wheat to the miller for flour, there was always fresh baked bread. To stretch the food, we were encouraged to take one bite of bread for every bite of other kinds of food. We had chokecherry jelly and ground-cherry jam. For dessert we had pumpkin and gooseberry pie. It was all delicious.
Giving and Receiving Presents
As I look back on that special Christmas over a lifetime, the most memorable part was that we did not think about presents. There may have been some handmade mittens or a scarf given, but I do not recall any presents. Presents are wonderful, but I found that they are not essential to our happiness. I could not have been happier. There were no presents that could be held and fondled and played with, but there were many wonderful gifts that could not be seen but could be felt.
There was the gift of boundless love. We knew God loved us. We all loved each other. We did not miss the presents because we had all these glorious gifts. It made me feel so wonderful and secure to belong and to be part of all that went on. We wanted nothing else. We did not miss the presents at all. I never remember a happier Christmas in my childhood.
We all enjoy giving and receiving presents. But there is a difference between presents and gifts. The true gifts may be part of ourselves—giving of the riches of the heart and mind—and therefore more enduring and of far greater worth than presents bought at the store...
He whose birth we celebrate has told us that all of the law and the prophets is contained in loving God and our fellowmen. James called this "the royal law" (James 2:8). The Apostle Paul said, "To know the love of Christ . . . passeth knowledge" (Eph. 3:19). In the First Epistle of John we are told, "Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God" (1 John 4:7)...
I too grew up poor. At age 10, we went to visit my Grandmother and some other relatives up in the hills of Missouri. These other relatives were of the sort that every family has but is not necessarily proud of. While there, all my Christmas presents disappeared from the back of our car while it was parked in their yard. (Later found out that my cousin stole them while we were all inside.) I was pretty brokenhearted, since my folks certainly couldn't afford to replace the few presents that had been lifted and I spent Christmas with no presents.
Got back home to MS and there was a brand new shiny red bicycle sitting on our porch with a big bow and "Merry Christmas" tag hanging on it. A local well-off man for reasons unknown had felt an urge in his heart to do something for me. I thanked him profusely and rode that bike for years.
MM
thank you and MERRY CHRISTMAS!
I'm not quite sure what it is, but the frantic pre-festive pandemonium always seems to make me nostalgic for a time, not so long ago, when my mind wasn't preoccupied with the pro's and cons of boned-and-rolled -v- traditional turkey recipes.
No matter what our ages, it's not too hard to remember back to the days when we were children, and Christmas is never as sweet as when seen through the innocent eyes of a Santa-believing seven year old.
I recall the self-satisfied sighs of my mother as she'd lament the days when a Satsuma orange in the toe of a well-darned sock was the highlight of a Christmas morn. As a woman who'd 'been through a war', the vast-commercialism of Christmas present would waft over her in a haze of oblivion, as she'd imaginatively conjure up homemade stocking fillers - cheap and cheerful but full of sentiment and thought - that were truly representative of the seasonable spirit.
For me, my memories of childhood Christmas almost certainly focus in on Woolworth's - that Aladdin's cave of matchbox cars and pick 'n' mix!
Oh the excitement of a Christmas Eve when my father would undertake his annual parental duty of taking the children out of the wife's hair - ensuring her a hassle free hour to prepare the multitude of inch-adding dishes to be consumed with fervour the following day.
It was on one of those chilly Christmas Eve's that I purchased my first vinyl record. Nothing flashy and hip like a Pink Floyd LP, but rather a `Smurfs sing Christmas' record, purchased probably because the album sleeve had a pop-up interior of the Smurfs Winter Wonderland! That's women for ye!!!
Christmas Eve was also the time when we'd be brought out to buy Mam's Christmas present. Every year another `dirt catcher' would be purchased - another pound-shop style knick-knack (invariably gaudy and glittery), which would be presented to a mouth-open, wide-eyed mother on Christmas morning, who would feign delight at this wonderous gift.
Those dirt catchers came back to haunt me in later life, when I made an attempt to 'chuck 'em in the bin'. As I did my mother followed me into the wheelie bin, screaming blue murder and rescuing the treasures, recounting the tales of what I wore, how old I was, what I said and how I packaged each of the individual trinkets over consecutive Christmases as a child. I was attempting to throw out my mother's memories of her nostalgic 'Christmas pasts'. A mistake I only made once!
And the memories of Christmas Eve. Crying in the bed because excitement wouldn't allow the sandman in, and the fear that Santa would drop a bag of coal off for an insomniac kid.
But the coal never came. Every Christmas morning the 'Tiny Tears' or equivilant much sought after gift sat on the end of the bed, beside a stuffed pair of tights (smart kid!!! More stocking fillers in a pair of nylons than in a regular ol' knee-sock! Hehehe).
And we'd squeal into Mam and Dad's room, to find me Dad sitting up enjoying his wee bottle of porter that Santa had so kindly remembered to leave for him.
Happy memories. Happy days.
Happy Christmas, all!
I know exactly what you mean; I have relatives from Missouri too! LOL!
Merry Christmas from Oklahoma
There's actually a Part II to this story. Some fifteen years later, after I'd grown up and owned my own business and was doing quite well, my phone rang one evening. On the other end of the line was ole Cousin James, the one who'd stolen my presents. In his own words, they had "run him out of Missouri" and he needed a place to stay. What he got was a dialtone. Seconds later, the phone rang again, at which time he told me that we had "done got cut off" on the telephone. One more dialtone. On the third ring, he immediately said, "This is my last quarter! Don't--" I haven't heard from him since.
Merry Christmas from Ole Miss!
MM
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