CHRISTMAS PAST

In the midst of the present last-minute Christmas preparations, I find myself reflecting back on the Christmas of my childhood. I recall the most special gifts being the ones crafted by my parents' own hands: knitted socks, sweaters, Barbie clothes, and, yes, the striped skirt with matching vest. Warm slippers my father made for my sisters and me by cutting up the lining of a shearling coat and sewing them with his awl. A wonderful red barn with a lift-off loft he made for our youngest sister, Nancy, was envied by both Tara and me. But Nancy coveted shelf space on the bookshelf he made for us.

Without a doubt the most memorable Christmas for me is the year Dad decided for us that we would not receive gifts, but instead, give gifts to the Baby Jesus. That idea didn't immediately appeal to us kids (and it horrified our grandparents!) but as Dad talked about the real meaning of Christmas and focused our thoughts on the blessing received through giving, we girls became enthusiastically supportive of the whole idea. We made some of our nicest Christmas gifts for our grandparents that year; coasters made of maple slices with the bark on, woodburned, and polyurethaned. We gave some of our favorite toys to children in town who didn't have as much. Dad gave us each a little spiral notebook in which we were to record our gifts to Jesus, such as: "Today I did not fight with my sister." "Today I did my chores without being told." "Tara made me really mad today but I did not say anything mean to her." Dad and I sewed life-size figures of Joseph and Mary out of burlap feed sacks and dressed them in bathrobes and towel headdresses. We made candle sconces out of coffee cans and Dad nailed them to the walls inside our log goathouse. We put hay in the feed trough and laid a swaddled baby doll there. On Christmas Eve, after we went caroling at the homes of shut-ins and old folks, we gathered in the goathouse, lit by our candle sconces, surrounded by goats, chickens, a dog, and probably a cat or two. There we knelt, one by one, and presented our gifts to the Baby Jesus, reading from our little notebooks. And, you know, in my young heart, I was sure I saw that Baby smile. The warm glow in that little stable on that cold, starry night has stayed with me for more than thirty years.