Memories of Christmas Past

Posted at 7:57 am on December 23, 2009 by Catherine

I know that not all Dupage Mamas celebrate Christmas, but I wanted to share some things are were and are special to me. I hope you enjoy it, and I would love to post your own family traditions for whatever holiday you are celebrating…or no holiday at all!
My first Christmas memory is from kindergarten. I was chosen to be Mary in our pageant, and I was to sing Away in the Manger in front of the whole church. I can vividly remember what an honor this was, but mostly I remember how thrilling it felt to have a hidden microphone in the manger straw.

I remember my plan to stay awake in bed one year until my parents hauled my gifts from their hiding place, past my closed door, and out to our Christmas tree. I waited up, senses alert and nose in the air, determined to smell out my presents as they went by. I was specifically hoping for that “new doll smell” to come wafting under my door…fueling my hope for a Cabbage Patch Doll of my own.

I remember writing Christmas poems for our small town newspaper; caroling in hospitals and nursing homes; I remember the White Elephant party where everyone else brought nice handmade gifts…and my family brought a toilet seat. I remember the first year I earned my gift-buying money myself by raking and bagging leaves for my dad – $1 per bag – and addressing and stamping Christmas cards for my mom – 5 cents per card. The presents I bought that year and gave on my own were the most special to me of all.

I remember candle lit church services, Christmas dinner with family and friends, baking cookies, and wearing new sweaters. I remember Advent calendars and popcorn balls after Church Christmas programs. I remember one brown December when we walked out of the Christmas Eve service to the first magical snow fall of the season.

I remember three years ago, the first Christmas after I became a mother, and the new perspective this gave me for what really happened in that stable 2000 years ago. Imagining with new eyes the pain of that donkey-and-cart ride to Bethlehem on a pregnant woman’s aching body; imagining the bustle that overtook the stable, the inn, and the neighborhood, as women heard Mary’s cries and Joseph’s impassioned requests for help and worked to give this new life – God Made Flesh – a chance to breathe his first breath.

I remember the Christmas two years ago when a young, nearly homeless teenage mother spent the day with us. She was living in a shelter with her tiny infant boy. My soul trembled in awe as I spoke with her and held her tiny baby, remembering that Jesus himself told us that when we give food and shelter to someone in need, we are doing it to him. Based on His value system, I celebrated Christmas with Mary and Baby Jesus that year. While we read the Christmas story together by candlelight there was a knock on the door. A young man, a neighbor, was beside himself with worry. His pregnant wife had traveled out of state unexpectedly to attend her Father’s funeral, and while she was there the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And so, Joseph visited our house that night as well.

But most of all, I remember last Christmas, Christmas of 2008. I spent the Advent season in deep, profound reflection, preparing myself and waiting not only for Jesus’ coming but also for the coming of my second son, due to arrive around the same time. As my body and soul waited for my child, the period of Advent waiting for Christ’s birth was vividly real to me. Sitting beneath the tree, lit by colored lights and candles, with carols playing in the background, I spent my evenings contemplating the road ahead of me, the pain, the joy, my anxiety, my expectations, the wonder, and the work. I began my labor there as well, and prayed, and cried, and asked for strength, for deliverance, for my son, and for myself.

God has come to make his dwelling among us, and he came in the most natural, human, way of all – born of a woman. When we speak of the virgin birth, the miracle we refer to is in the “virgin” part. But what about the miracle of birth itself, and the miracle that this is God being birthed? The miracle that God imparts through women all over the world, every minute of every day. And the ultimate miracle – that God himself was made man – was born – with all the blood and trauma, and joy, that surrounds any other birth.

How can this be? I have taken all of these and I do ponder them in my heart. Hallelujah.

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