Sometimes when I close my eyes this time of year, it takes me back to my sister and I, lying on our bellies in pajamas by the Christmas tree and flipping through the Ward’s or J.C. Penney’s catalogue and “claiming” the gifts on the page as our own… great times. I remember my mother in full factory production mode at the kitchen table, making a dozen types and flavors of holiday cookies and caramel and cinnamon rolls, and sewing late into the night to make us personalized gifts like shower robes and customized outfits. I recall the anticipation of Christmas church services with the lighting of candles by all of us in attendance, and the paper bags of peanuts and hard ribbon candy and chocolate-covered marshmallow treats and fruit they would give to the kids as a holiday treat. I think about singing the old classic Christmas songs and how special and magical it all felt to me… feeling as close to baby Jesus as I think anyone could. I think back, trying to remember the specific order in which we would eat Christmas dinner, clean up, and decide where to sit before the big event, when the youngest child who was able would read the Christmas story from the bible before we passed out all the gifts and opened them one-by-one.
How I wish I could close my eyes and return to those times so I could tell my mother how much I loved her and tell her how much those family Christmases meant to me, and how the environment she created in our home this time of year helped me guide the way I wanted to celebrate forever with my own wife and family. The real, lasting gifts at Christmas aren’t from a store. They are the memories you unwrap decades later. Close your eyes and see.