Christmas Joys

Psst! I found it! Anne, look! I found it! It's right here, in the third cubbyhole from the left!

I reach into the open secretary desk and silently slide out a small, smudged index card. Yup, this is it. Each of our names is strung out on the card, one under the other, oldest to youngest. There's my name. Near the bottom.

It's Mom's Christmas list.

I found it.

But at the same time, my tummy knots. Do I really want to know what I'm getting for Christmas? Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes!

Maybe if I look really, really quickly and only scan down the list as far as my brother's name, and then squint past my name . . . I wouldn't spoil my surprise.

Oops. I saw it. Right there next to my name. C.C. Hmmm...C.C? What could it be? C.C.? Captain Crunch? Candy Canes? I can't imagine.

I hear muffled footsteps. It might be Mom! I quickly push the index card back into its slot and studiously start flipping through the magazine on the desk . . . and smile innocently as Mom enters the room.

Fast forward 49 years . . .

We gather at church -- old friends and new, young and old. Some have volunteered, and some have been recruited. We prepare for the cold by getting our fill of homemade soups, delicious BBQ, and yummy cookies. I peer into the sanctuary.

The costumes are paired, and laying across the backs of the pews. I look for mine.


We get dressed. Layer after layer. We line up according to our role.

I overhear one costumed man quietly speak as he steps into line, "I'm here every year; I wouldn't miss it. This is what really starts Christmas for me." As we process outside, I carefully step up onto the box behind Mary and Joseph.

Cars slowly glide by for the next hour and twenty minutes. Some stop. Some get out to look more closely. Some drive down a side street and sweep back around for another look.

I watch Mary intently. She warms her hands. The wind is cold.

An unexpected warmth as we pause to reflect.

A new tradition begins for us.