We had our good years, the magical years early on, before the inevitable awakening. The extended family would gather at our house for the traditional Christmas Eve feast and the first round of gift-giving and getting. Christmas music would be playing in the background.
We’d go to the late (11pm) candlelight service at church, which meant that by the time it was over we’d be able to greet each other with a bona fide “Merry Christmas” before heading home. We’d get home, probably take a while to fall asleep, then Mom would settle into the role she relished—wrapping and putting gifts under the tree until 2 or 3 in the morning (I know—I caught her in the act when I was 7 or 8).
And then we’d awaken at 4am and start our reconnaissance runs out to the tree. Not every gift was wrapped, but I’ll always remember that feeling of anticipation and discovery. I’ll always remember the aroma of fresh balsam, or whatever kind of tree we got.
It was a time like no other, but I don’t remember thinking about Jesus very much.
3 Cents' 