Katie’s Musings: Christmas Memories

Last Sunday in church, we talked about Christmas memories, and in the days since, I’ve been reflecting on my own. The amazing private ice skating rink my dad made for us in the pasture beside our house. Dressing up for the Christmas pageant at church, and being really excited the year I got to be the angel and perch on top of the sturdy manger one of the church members built for the occasion. Decorating the tree with funky ornaments we’d collected over the years. Listening to Bing croon, “White Christmas” (with the all-important “wh” sound) in the car on the way to Christmas eve services. The year I was simultaneously obsessed with the book “The Polar Express” and questioning the existence of Santa, and so under the tree on Christmas morning, I found a bell from the sleigh, just like in the book.

As I grew older, there were many Christmases that I simply didn’t make it home for – the hazard of being a professional church musician and performer. As the main character in my favorite Holiday movie, “Holiday Inn” points out, for performers, Christmas doesn’t mean a day of rest. It means you do two shows instead of one. I spent many holidays singing for other people’s churches instead of my own, getting double pay but always feeling like it wasn’t quite a fair trade. I had Christmas music galore and cheerful smiling people around me, but I never bothered putting up a Christmas tree. I just didn’t see the point.

This Christmas is, of course, to be particularly hard for me, as it is the first one without my dad physically present in it. But as I was thinking back over Christmas presents and experiences gone by, I realized that dad may have unintentionally given us one last gift.

He HATED Christmas. I mean, really really hated it. If he could have left town right after Thanksgiving and returned after New Years, he would have been fine with it. Sure, he enjoyed surprising his girls with presents and finding the perfect thing to give us each year. But his own Christmas gifts often included some t-shirt or hat that involved the word, “Humbug.”

I think his dislike was two-fold. One: as is the way of things with farmers, dad hated anyone to make a fuss over everything. He preferred his world calm and even keel, and holidays stirred up activity and stress. But two: he had his own Christmas memories to contend with – my great-grandma died around Christmas, and my grandma always seemed to get sicker during the holidays. Our Christmas memories can and do absolutely dictate the way we experience the holiday … just the same way that any memory, really, tied to an event or a person or an experience, can dictate the way we experience life.

So this year, I got a Christmas tree, and by george, I decorated it. My first one in my adult life. I selected the color scheme, bought the appropriate glass balls and a mesh star for the top. I even pinterest-ed a garland out of a rope and some brightly colored ribbons tied to it. And as I watched one of the Indiana Jones movies that happened to be playing on TV, I decorated that thing and plugged in the lights. They shone brightly into my spirit and my future memories, lighting my way through this Christmas and beyond.

May the warmth of Advent and the memories of Christmases gone by hold you and keep you through this December and beyond.