Remembrance, like a candle, burns brightest at Christmastime.–Charles Dickens
Memories of Christmas
I hope everyone has enjoyed a beautiful Christmas this year. My family and I have just gone through one of those bittersweet celebrations of Christmas that has just a few holes in the usual traditions associated with our Christmases of past years. You know, the kind of Christmas that is so full of memories that you can almost feel them, taste them, see them. Memories that include many faces that are no longer with us. The memories felt so close sometimes that I am sure I felt the presence of Mom, Dad, and my grandparents in the room with us.
I have been so fortunate to have been raised in a family that celebrated Christmas with an emphasis on the true meaning of the holiday. Therefore, my history of past Christmases is rich in stories about acts of kindness and giving and worshiping the God Who gave us the greatest gift of all-His Son, Jesus. This history is rich in traditions that place giving way ahead of receiving, that encourage giving from the heart rather than the purse, that helped us know that sometimes the greatest gifts don’t even come from a store.
If you have been following my blog in recent months, then you know that this was the first Christmas without my Dad. Since we have celebrated Christmas at his home in past years, it made this year even harder to know we would not celebrate there this Christmas. With Dad’s death has come lots of other changes as well, and it has caused me to frequently conjure up images of the life I have lived because of my Dad and the person he was. If I were to measure his success in terms of financial gains, he would not score very high. If I were to measure his success in terms of his place in social circles, he would not score a page in the society columns. But if I measure his success in terms of the character he modeled for us, then that is where he achieved glorious triumph.
So many times over the years, I saw Dad give people things that our family could really use, but he saw someone else needed it more than we did. From that we learned sacrifice. And we learned how rewarding sacrifice can be, because it gave Dad such joy to see the happy reactions of others who received his gifts. Many times, I saw Dad reach into his billfold and give me or one of my sisters the very last $2 he had so that we could go skating or go to a movie with a friend. And I also saw him leave the room with tears in his eyes on the occasions he did not have it to give. I suppose that is where I learned to earn my own way and not have to ask for anything. I hated to see him hurt like that. Dad had a big heart.
One Christmas in particular keeps coming to mind as I stir up all these memories. It was the Christmas when I was about 12 years old. Dad had suffered the loss of his business that year and had taken a job digging ditches in order to pay the bills and keep a roof over our head. He was embarrassed to have to take that job, but he did it because of his love for us. Because it did not pay very well, there was no money left over once the utilities and rent were paid. I knew he and Mom were very worried about Christmas and how they were going to buy gifts for their three children. Mom had warned us that we should not expect very much that year, and we were prepared. But somehow, on Christmas Eve, Dad got a bonus check. He and Mom scrambled to the stores, shopping frantically before they all closed. Back then, very few stores were even open Christmas Eve and the ones that were had been very picked over by that time. So, what we opened that year were presents that contained clothes that were seconds or poorly made, toys that we had not asked for and no toys that we had asked for, and some other very forgettable items. But one gift I have never forgotten. It was an ugly tan and white sweater that was no where close to being in style. I remember opening it and looking over at my Dad. He looked so sad and so apprehensive as he waited for my reaction. He knew it wasn’t what I wanted. But in that moment, I realized what an act of love he had committed that day. He took the money he had earned digging ditches and bought gifts for his children. He didn’t spend it on himself. He didn’t pay bills with it. He tried to give his kids the best Christmas that he could possibly give them. So, with all the joy I could muster in that moment, I glowed over that ugly sweater like it was straight out of Vogue and every girl’s dream. Dad beamed. Mom smiled with tears in her eyes. Christmas was great that year.
Although he got a better job and we had lots of Christmases after that with nicer, costlier gifts, THAT Christmas is the one that I remember as one of the most special Christmases ever. That is the Christmas that I learned about how great my father’s love for me truly was. He taught me that love is often about sacrifice. What better time to learn that lesson than Christmas, which in itself is all about our Heavenly Father’s love for us and His sacrifice for us?
Papaw Ron and Chelsea, Christmas 2010
Merry Christmas.
P.S. I still have the sweater.
wendyivensphotography 