Christmas Time is Here

By the sheer number of happy salutations as fb statuses, it would appear that a "Merry Christmas" is in order. However, since your fb wall is probably filled with similar greetings, I will go with the more non-traditional "Merry Winter Solstice which was later dubbed Christmas in an order to denote a day to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." Really, it doesn't matter the day. What matters is the reason. Our lives will forevermore be changed by one magical baby boy (and I don't mean Santa, although he has been known to change lives too).
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Stars have begun to glow, their radiance lighting the paths of fellow church members, here to attend the Christmas Eve service at the First Baptist Church in Sunrise Beach. Inside, my brothers and I are frantically running here and there, assisting my dad in various capacities. We greet the guests and members, pour grape juice into tiny plastic cups, break unleavened bread into pieces, wiping away the crumbs. Because the boys are more technologically savvy, their duties also include setting up the sound, powerpoint, video, or whatever other equipment is required. Then, when it is time, my mother's hands kiss the ivory keys, producing a whisper which welcomes each person. My father's voice joins her music as he welcomes the congregation on this oh-so-special night. This is Christmas Eve.

After the service my family congregates at our house. Each one eager for the night to continue in Christmas Eve fashion. Sparkling grape juice is poured into holly-decorated glasses. Wrapping paper disappears and reappears in random and haphazard fashions and places. Christmas music or Christmas movies can be heard, along with overly enthusiastic tones from me. I scurry here and there, setting up my annoying and torturous scavenger hunt for my brothers. My father comes back over, changes clothes and settles down, signaling that we are finally ready.

We gather round the Christmas tree, eager eyes surveying the blessings. We each get to pick one gift to open. Which one will it be? One by one, we open our gifts, making sure to note down who it is from in order to send out the thank you card. Then we adjourn to the couches, drink our juice, and chat about this or that. When the first yawns are heard, my brothers and I go back to one of our rooms, a laptop already open and waiting or a tv on and programmed. This is one of the few times we all cuddle up together without hitting, biting, or screaming. Instead, our energies are concentrated on the black figure on the screen, hopping up and down, saying repeatedly, “It’s just a flesh wound.” Yes, our traditional Christmas movie is “Monty Python.” Somewhere along the way, we one-by-one drift off into Never Neverland.

Waking up sets off a series of events which typically include dog piling on whichever person dares to try to sleep past eight. We walk, as a family, into the living room. Stockings have been placed around the room by Ms. Claus and her helper. One on the love seat. Two on the couch. One on the recliner. One on the floor. Coming out of each stocking is an assortment of goodies: batteries, candy, and other small, yet appreciated things. There’s also one big gift. Once again, one-by-one we take turns, showing off what Santa brought to us during the night. Lots of hugs, thanks, and laughter is shared.

After the presents have been opened and rejoiced over, the breakfast tradition commences. I take out the blocks of sharp cheddar cheese and begin grating them. Once that is over, my older brother and my dad mix the cheese with bisquick and sausage. Then, we all dig in and roll the concoction into small balls, then place them in the oven to cook. Sausage balls. Hot, round balls of deliciousness. Enough said.

Next, we load up the van with all of our junk and luggage and begin the eight hour trip to my grandparents. On Christmas night the entire family (or as many as show up) gather around a lit and fully-trimmed tree, and begin the evenings activities.

Singing usually begins and ends our festivities. Carols played by not one, not two, but three pianists, accompanied by a large number of voices. A dinner of steak or fajitas is rapidly and contentedly devoured. Then, my grandfather’s or one of my uncle’s, or my eldest cousin’s voice proudly reads the Christmas story from Luke. Following the story describing the birth of our Lord, we exchange gifts. Everyone is responsible for one other person, the person whose name they drew earlier in the year.

Then, once again, more singing, chatting, and general frivolity breaks out.

Unfortunately, the past couple of years, things have changed a bit. I went to Russia. My brother is working this year. My cousin was married to a wonderful man on the 23rd this December, which means that everyone travelled to my uncle’s house instead of my grandmothers. Instead of a family meal of steaks and fajitas, we had a rehearsal dinner. However, some things will always stay. We still sang the Star Spangled Banner. We still exchanged gifts. We still read the Christmas story. But, most importantly, we still showed each other and told each other how much we love them.