The One Where They Changed the Locks

My family celebrated Christmas today, starting with presents this morning, then turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy and stuffing and canned cranberry jelly and rolls and Frog Eye Salad (all my favorites), then a long afternoon of hanging out together, telling stories, and playing games. Joel and I left a few minutes before everyone else, because we needed to go home and change clothes before the Christmas Eve service at church. Liv told me that it's not a church day, and I told her that the Christmas Eve service is the best church day of the whole year.

I have always loved the Christmas Eve service at church. One of the many stories that were told about the dinner table today was about how much baby Kate loved Dad. After her mom and dad and brothers, Grandpa was her next favorite person. In contrast, no matter what Mom did, Kate cried whenever she looked at Grandma, and Mom could only hold her if Kate didn't see that it Grandma. It must have been 2009 when Kate got really excited about seeing Grandpa up on the stage at the Christmas Eve service, enough to keep calling out to him, so much that he came down off the stage and got her and brought her up on stage with him for the final song.

Before that, there was a Christmas Eve was James was still a very small baby, and Dad held him for the entire message at the Christmas Eve service, giving us all a great visual, as we imagined Jesus coming as a baby. I remember Patrick and Tanya giving themselves a little pep talk about how the baby would be fine with Dad, and that Dad had plenty of stability to hold the baby through the whole service. It was 2006, and we were all thankful that Dad's stroke hadn't taken him away from us.

There was that time that the worship team, lead by Steve Melton, played "Silent Night", with a surprise twist. It started out traditional, then turned into an upbeat rock song, representing how that night in Bethlehem was anything but silent! It was loud and chaotic with all the hotels filled up with people who were in town for the census.

Another Christmas Eve, Dad taught about the symbolism behind Christmas tree decorations, like what each color represents about Jesus. My family decorated the tree with lights, gold garland, and ornaments of many colors.

We had a candlelit Christmas Eve service in 1995. Real candles. Real flames. Really nervous Dad. No one burned down the church, but Patrick and Clayton took the papers intended to keep candle wax from dripping on your hands, and put them on their noses instead. I have proof.

Our church is casual. My dad wears a tie about half the time, but it's rare to see anyone else wearing a tie. Some parents have given their boys the dress rule that they're not allowed to wear a shirt with writing on it to church, that it has to have a collar or stripes. Recently one of the classes received trophies on the stage, and every boy was wearing a shirt with stripes. Jeans and t-shirts and flip flops are perfectly acceptable. Girls under the age of eight are the only group excluded from being questioned when dressed fancy at church. Otherwise the rest of us will ask you where you're going after church. On more than one occasion, my parents have stopped home on a Sunday afternoon, to change INTO their nice clothes for a wedding or funeral. So when you look around the church on Christmas Eve, and see more dresses and ties and red and sparkly than usual, it's special.

I always loved hanging out with my friends at the Christmas Eve service. We would all be dressed up and excited for the next day. Years may pass, things may change, but appreciating friends remains the same. I miss catching up with James Melton when we were both on break from college. I love having interesting conversations with Autumn, like tonight's speculation that time is passing so quickly that we might be in a parallel universe. I love when I get to see Clayton and Brad and Tori at the Christmas Eve service. I would say that Clay doesn't use paper candle holders for nose gear anymore, but in all fairness, we have never had another candlelit service, so none of us can really know what he'd do now.

But long before the Billy Graham Chaplains showed up to the Christmas Eve service unexpectedly... long before Tim proposed to Joanna outside the church late one Christmas Eve night... long before we looked forward to fudge from the Rinaldis... long before my parents became grandparents... there was the night that the YMCA changed the locks.

Long ago, in a Calvary Chapel far far away... our church met in a YMCA. The church rented the building on Sunday mornings, from 8:00am til noon. We had to be out of the building by noon, and often times the entire small church would go out to lunch at Taco Bell when the clock stuck twelve. Baptisms in the huge pool were a highlight, but nobody liked the tedious chore of carrying chairs and speakers up to the second floor auditorium. The YMCA had been rented for Christmas Eve service. I remember going to church with Dad, and I remember being at the house with Mom. So we must have all gone to church together when the discovery was made. Sometime between Sunday morning and Christmas Eve, the YMCA had changed the locks. Dad's key didn't work and everyone from church was on their way to the Christmas Eve service. Dad made the quick decision that we were going to move the Christmas Eve service to our house, and Mom took us back home for a quick whirlwind of straightening up, while Dad remained in the cold, telling everyone to come to our house instead. You will remember that this was before cell phones.

More and more and more people came. The church that seemed small in other settings now filled my parents' house to standing room only. What seemed at first like a disaster turned into the most memorable Christmas Eve service of all time. We all sang carols, Lenora played the violin, and we remembered another busy crowded night, when God sent His only Son as a baby, to be born among barn animals and spend His first night asleep on the hay in a feeding trough.

Jesus' birth did not happen at a convenient time for Mary and Joseph, but a necessary time to fulfill prophecy. As we celebrate this Christmas, may we not remember Jesus' birth only at our convenience, but may we see how necessary He is to our lives every day. For it is not His birth that makes "God and man reconciled", but His death on the cross to pay for our sins and the fact that He rose from the dead and now lives forevermore. We have all sinned and fall short of the glory of God. Our sin has earned us death and Hell, but God offers us the free gift of salvation and Heaven through Jesus alone. If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. If you have never opened that free gift from the Lord, please know that today is Christmas, and that gift is waiting for you.

Take the abundant life, for eternity and for every day living.

Don't leave it unopened at the Tree.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!! Thank you for sharing in my week of Christmas memories, thank you for encouraging me to write, and thank you for adding so many of your memories. May the Lord bless you this Christmas!

The One with Alf

The Christmas rules were simple: No tree until after December 10th. Hang the tinsel perfectly as if your life depended on it. Gather up the wrapping paper trash as gifts are opened. Wait until after 9am to call Aunt Sandy and Grandma to find out when they were coming over.

They never came over quick enough. We'd pick up the phone and dial the number that I still have memorized, and ask them how soon they were going to get there. Patrick was probably in charge of watching out the window. Eventually they'd come over, bearing gifts and cream pies. 

The first Christmas that I remember was maybe the first one in the house where my parents still live. I remember the black trash bags that kept coming up the front steps, like it was a moving day. I remember my mom telling my grandma and grandpa, "This is way too much." I thought it was a fine amount, though the only presents I remember from that year are slippers and a stuffed sheep wearing roller skates. 

Sometimes our Christmas gifts included items that went along with whatever movie was opening that season, like the year we got pajamas and stuffed animals from "All Dogs Go to Heaven". We got to see ALL the movies that came out at the holidays, because after we'd opened presents, and after we'd eaten mid-day dinner, Aunt Sandy would take Patrick and me (and Eileen when she was old enough) to the movies while my parents took naps. I don't remember how old we were when we started going to the movies, but we went every Thanksgiving and every Christmas, and other times through the year too. Anytime we went to the movies with Aunt Sandy, she would also buy us sodas and candy. 

Any trip with Aunt Sandy was an all-expenses-paid, whatever-you-want kind of deal. Let me illustrate what I'm talking about, because it wasn't limited to movie concessions. One time she took us to Tiemeyer Pool in the summer. When Aunt Sandy asked us how long Mom let us stay, which was an hour, we estimated high when answering, so as to leave room for negotiation: "Three hours." We stayed FOUR hours with Aunt Sandy... and she bought us plenty of snacks from the snack bar, obviously. My cousin Robin is gonna read this and not recognize her mom from these stories, but this will help her understand why she may not get all the things she wants. It's because twenty years ago, Aunt Sandy already spent all her money on us! 

One time, when David was little, he wanted something and Patrick and Tanya told him it was too expensive. Minutes later, my dad bought it for him, and David told his parents that Grandpa has "expensive money" (David coined many lasting Fitzgerald phrases). But back in the 80's and 90's, when there were things my parents couldn't afford, it was Grandma and Aunt Sandy who had the expensive money. It didn't matter if it was the purple Coleman sleeping bag or the papasan chair that I'd always dreamed of having or the expensive Naturalizer boots, as long as they knew that we would appreciate something, they bought it for us. I remember Aunt Sandy taking me to Northwest Plaza to try on the boots, saying she would buy them for me as long as I really liked them and was going to wear them. I wore them until they had no tread left. 

Shopping hasn't been the same since going with Aunt Sandy, Grandma, and Aunt Edie. I remember many grocery store trips, K-mart trips, and Wal-mart trips. Wal-mart has the most stories. Shopping was an event for Grandma. Step one: Put her cane in the cart. Step two: Walk slowly through the store and put things into her cart. Step three: Sit with Aunt Edie in the snack bar and evaluate everything in the cart. Step four: Put back half the stuff, not where it goes, not given to the cashier, just shove it anywhere. Grandma always took extra bags from Shop N Save when checking out, as in stacks of brand new plastic bags, and saved them in her closet. Keep in mind that I have no memories of Grandma using a single one of these bags.

The grocery bag closet was in a room that adjoined the living room, also known as the bedroom that was built for my dad when baby Sandy was born. One time, when Grandma was babysitting us, one of the cats pushed the door open from that room, which in turn pushed the front door closed. Grandma got up to re-open the front door, saying something Grandma-ish like, "Durn cat." We were very creative at Grandma's house, so for the next hour or so, Patrick occupied himself by sneaking through the kitchen into that bedroom, and pushing the door open, so that Grandma kept getting up and kept blaming the cat.

Grandma's slang words were also a highlight of our card games. Mom and Dad and I played Shanghai (a version of rummy) with Grandma and Aunt Sandy on a regular basis after family dinners and on holidays. Grandma would say things like "durn" and "horse patootie" when she wasn't having luck with the cards.

Another Grandma story happened when she was babysitting at our house. When Eileen was born, both Grandma and Aunt Sandy would come over to babysit us, but at the time, it was just me and Patrick home, and Grandma was watching evening television. We were playing in the basement, and decided to have some fun. [I am already laughing out loud as I write this.] Patrick and I found black clothes for him to wear, including a black stocking cap. Then we used dark green eye shadow to darken his face. Then we went upstairs as slowly and quietly as we could. Patrick inched his way across the kitchen floor until he came out the doorway into the living room, right behind the recliner where Grandma was sitting. On my cue, he darted out from behind the chair, right in front of Grandma, right in front of the TV, running as fast as he could to the other side of the room. In retrospect, it's clearly a terrible idea to scare an old person, but we were too young to consider things like that. Grandma definitely didn't see it coming, and yelled a whole lot of not-made-up bad words, and threw in some "durn kids". 

There are two stories that make me laugh out loud every single time. You just read one of them. Here's the other: When Mom got home from grocery shopping, we were in charge of carrying in all the groceries, and putting away whatever things we could. One time, before any of the cans got put away, Patrick and I took the paper labels off all the tuna cans, and wrote "CAT FOOD" on them with a marker. Important fact: We had a cat. Mom caught us right after we did it, so she knew that the cans without labels were tuna and only tuna. All the cat food cans still had cat food labels. Soon afterwards, she was making tuna casserole for dinner, and my dad saw her opening cans labeled "CAT FOOD". After he was done freaking out and asking, "What are you doing?!", we were instructed to never again remove labels. 

Grandma and Aunt Sandy both had cats, wore cat sweatshirts, had cat earrings and cat quilts, and liked all things with cats. The first Christmas shopping I did was when Patrick and I bought Christmas presents with our own money from the nearby 88 Cents Store. Grandma and Aunt Sandy got cat items, whereas Aunt Edie was a bird person.
Eventually, Uncle Steve came into the picture, and we had to share Aunt Sandy. When they went on their honeymoon, Aunt Sandy let me borrow her convertible for the week, as a surprise. After the wedding reception, she tossed me the keys and said I could drive it all week. BEST. WEEK. EVER. 

Time would fail me to tell you all of the adventures we had with Aunt Sandy back in the day or during the years when we'd go over to her house for Christmas Eve pie, but I will tell you that many presents from her are still in existence and used on a regular basis, including the papasan chair. But the most treasured of all presents, the most used, the sometimes re-gifted, the well-traveled, the beloved of all time... is Alf. 

The enjoyment of Alf only increases as the years go on. There were a few years where Patrick and I went back and forth wrapping up Alf and giving him to each other as a Christmas present. I think Patrick started it. The recipient of the gift would think, "Ooh, whatever could be in this large present?...[unwraps]... Ha ha ha! It's Alf! You got me again!" I considered sending Alf to Patrick when he was at Bible College, but rather than send a stuffed doll to a house full of sweaty boys, I took photos of Alf doing things around the house, a whole roll of film, and sent Patrick the photos. Soon after, we all went out there for Patrick's graduation and wedding. It was then that I discovered that Build-A-Bear clothes fit Alf. So Alf came to California wearing a Hawaiian shirt, then he came to the graduation wearing a cap and gown, and he came to the wedding wearing a tuxedo. He was included in one of the photos with all the groomsmen. Alf also has a Batman costume. There are plenty of good stories about Alf... and when I mention Alf, I do not think of the television show, or the fact that these dolls were mass produced, I think of the one individual doll that belongs to our family, the one true Alf. 

Everything that Alf embodies, memories and family and love and presents and laughter... are also true of the one who bought him in the first place. Aunt Sandy gave us great presents, and took us on adventures, and spent lots of time with us. She is my aunt role model. I want my nieces and nephews to have adventures and memories and thoughtful gifts and know that I care about their lives and their concerns and their interests the same way that Aunt Sandy did for us. 

Several years ago, I was reading a book about living childless, which was basically about counting your blessings instead of feeling sorry for yourself. One part has especially stuck with me. It said that childless people make great aunts and uncles, that every child deserves a childless aunt or uncle, and that almost everyone can recall a very important childless person in their lives, whether related or not. I realized that I wanted to be that person who listens intently when children are talking about what is important to them. I want to compliment them on their strengths and encourage their talents. I want to use this time when I don't have my own children to make memories with my nieces and nephews. I want to take them on adventures, even if the adventure is Chick-Fil-A, because Kate and Liv seemed pretty excited our Girls Only dinner there last week. I want to give them some unique gift that is the unlikely item that gets cherished for decades, like Alf. 

Anyone who sees me post photos or quotes about my nieces and nephews, and tells me that I'm a good aunt... you should know that I learned it all from Aunt Sandy. Even now, as grown adults, when it's Christmas afternoon and there's that lull in the festivities, Patrick and Eileen and I will turn to each other and say, "Shouldn't Aunt Sandy be taking us to the movies?"

The One with the Christmas Lights

My parents have a large window in their living room, perfect for staring out into the street. Of course I'm talking about staring out the window as a child, but it's just as true now, with my dad checking out every unfamiliar noise. One time, Patrick stared out the window the whole time we were waiting for pizza to be delivered. He was between the window and the curtain, staring. He was going to announce when the pizza arrived, so that Dad could get up and pay the guy and get the pizza. I'm pretty sure my parents had kids so that they wouldn't have to get up as much (smart). We were the remote control when our television still had a dial. When Patrick and I got older, Eileen inherited remote control duty. By then, my parents had the better TV without a dial (Dad reminded me that they had to upgrade their TV because of the Christmas Nintendo), but it still had no remote, so they would call Eileen in from another room to change the channel. On the night that the sentinel awaited the pizza man, Patrick was quiet in the curtains for a long time, then suddenly announced, "The pizza man!"... and Dad got up... "is NOT here!" Dad got up for nothing!

Underneath this same window was a small flat circle, midway between the window and the floor, that would sometimes fall out of the wall. Among the many make believe stories that my mom would make up for us, she told us that a bunny lived in that hole. At the time, the couch covered up that wall, but we'd crawl behind it, because we were kids and we fit in small spaces. We'd take the circle out of the wall, and Dad would tell us to put it back, because at some point, they must have patched it up, because there's no circle now. One time, we took the circle out and there was a drawing of a bunny in there, which my mom had drawn and put there.

I remember looking out the window when asking if we could go to Disneyland, probably as a result of a television commercial or the weekly Disney Sunday Movie (back when Michael Eisner and Mickey Mouse introduced the movie and the world was a better place). My parents totally passed off the blame of us not going to Disneyland by always answering that we would go to Disneyland when Tina got married, which we did. Thank goodness for Scott. 

I also remember looking out the window the many times that I asked if we could put up Christmas lights on our house. I don't remember their answer, but they never put up Christmas lights. Our indoor Christmas lights were big fire-hazard bulbs that eventually had to be replaced with modern Christmas lights, since they had dwindled over the years. We would use those bulbs for the nightlight in me and Patrick's room. That was actually fantastic, because I'd go down in the basement (probably because Mom and Dad didn't want to get up) and pick out the next color of nightlight bulb. What would it be this time? Red, green, blue... life was exciting!

When I went to California for Bible College, I was away from home for four months. I left the end of August. I saw my mom when she came out in October for the Pastors' Wives Conference (but mostly to see me). For Thanksgiving, Crystal and Adam gave me a ride to Arizona, where I spent the weekend with Joel, and met his grandparents for the first time. It was my meet-the-parents experience, because I had known Anne and JB as long as I'd known Joel. A couple weeks before Thanksgiving, Joel's sweet grandmother sent me a letter at school, saying how they were looking forward to seeing me, and they wanted me to feel right at home when I stayed with them. I did have a wonderful Thanksgiving with them, and they made me feel very comfortable at their house. When the Christmas break came in December, I was looking forward to being at my real home. 

I flew back to Missouri, and my family met me at the airport, back when you could meet someone at their gate, back when our view of terrorists was the Libyans that were after Doc Brown for stealing their plutonium. We drove home in the blue Chevy Caprice. As we turned the corner from Stephens Place to Fairway Court, I saw one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen... 

My home... and that window was decorated with a few strands of Christmas lights.

The One with the Christmas Trees

When we first moved to Missouri, I remember my mom assembling a hand-me-down fake tree. It was not like the ones you buy at Target today, that come pre-lit, and all you have to do is fluff out the branches. Oh no. After hauling the massive cube of the falling-apart cardboard box upstairs, the first step was to sort the branches by what color was marked on the peg at the base of the branch. Then, one by one, the branches were inserted into a pole with holes in it. The color coding indicated which larger branches went at the bottom and which smaller branches went at the top. Obviously, we did this while Dad was at work, because it made a huge mess.

That was before I knew the cardinal rule of Christmas trees, for every year, a decree would go forth from Dad that we could not get a Christmas tree until after his birthday (December 10). Recently, I made up this parody song that begins with, "It's beginning to look a lot like Dad's birthday, everywhere you go... there's a tree in the Grand Hotel, one in the park as well, [crescendo] but not one in our house til after December tenth!" When everyone was grown and married, we could sometimes sneak the Christmas tree trip in a few days earlier, if it was the only day that worked for everyone. 

Perhaps the segue between the ridiculous puzzle of a fake tree and our time honored family tradition was the year that Dad took me and Patrick to the Breckenridge "National" grocery store parking lot to pick out a tree from the someone-else-cut-it-down lot. I'm pretty sure that was 1990, when Eileen was a baby. Perhaps Mom wasn't up to putting the puzzle tree together, maybe it had gotten too Charlie Brown-ish, or maybe Dad did not have the patience for the puzzle tree. Whatever the case, we got a REAL tree.

I believe 1991 to be the inaugural year of the family tradition, because the following year, I knew to bring my camera, loaded with 110 film. We took a road trip to the faaaaar away land of O'Fallon, walked around the Christmas tree farm in the cold, agreed on a Christmas tree, cut it down, and brought it home. [Do not let these Christmas memories fool you into thinking that every family decision was a vote, because I heard a whole lot of "because I'm the dad" and "because I'm the mom".]

I remember one year, our Christmas tree leaned so badly that it had to be in a corner, with string tied to the trunk, and staked to two walls to keep it upright... and it still kept falling over. 

The Queen of Tinsel, also known as my mom, taught us the rules of hanging tinsel. THE RULES: One must hang tinsel one strand at a time. Pull a strand over the branch, until two-thirds of the strand hangs on the opposite side from where you started pulling. Distribute as evenly as possible. Do not even consider globs of tinsel. Do not even consider throwing it. I do not think that my mom has OCD tendencies, the closest she ever gets is that she likes to choose seating arrangements for groups. Perhaps every speck of her OCD must be saved up for Christmastime, to be used on perfecting the tinsel. And I love that about her.

According to my mom, it was my dad's idea to cut down Christmas trees. Nobody guessed that the tradition would last more than twenty years. We always went to the very same Christmas tree lot, where you could pay cash or a personal check. Dad always talked with the owner. When we first started going there, the lot was in the middle of no place, woods as far as the eye could see. Slowly, the area got more and more built up, until there were new housing developments right across the street. Dad asked the owner if he had considered selling the land, and the owner said no, and that it was the only place in Missouri that a particular kind of Christmas tree grew.

The first year that Dad missed was 2006. It was extremely icy on the day we went, and I think that we all slipped and fell while walking around, searching for the perfect tree. The amount of time that it took to find the perfect tree was always directly proportional to how nice the weather was. Sunny and forty degrees? Well, better walk around for over an hour. Mark potential trees with bright gloves and scarves, then try to re-find your gloves and scarves and evaluate whether or not that tree is better or worse than the one just over that hill. Cloudy and 28 degrees? That one's fine. But in 2006, Dad wisely decided that since he was still recovering from his stroke, he and Mom would stay home with little David and baby James, instead of walking around on icy hills. The three couples went out and chose three trees, with the engaged Eileen and Steve choosing the one for Mom and Dad's house. We braved the ice because we all wanted Christmas trees before Tina and Scott arrived for a visit later that day. 

Another new fun dynamic was added to the Christmas tree tradition when the kids started getting excited about it. David picked out a tree that was well over fifty feet tall, because it was clearly the best. David and James walked around with their own saws, that were almost as big as they were. Patrick and Tanya infamously overestimated how much space they had. Several years in a row, they had to chop off the bottom of the tree to fit it in their duplex, which is unfortunate, as the Christmas trees were priced by the foot. 

The tradition eventually faded away, as it became more and more difficult to coordinate a day when we could all go together. Because that was part of the excitement, everyone going out together, buying multiple trees, and occasionally eating at Culver's on the way home. Joel and I stopped buying trees the last few years, as our house felt too empty and quiet for all the joy of a real tree. At one point, I bought a fake three-foot tree from Wal-mart, which felt both devastating and relieving, to accept that Joel and I would not be expecting any children to join our family for some years to come. 

I am so thankful that the kids got to experience the same Christmas tree memories and excitement as we had when we were growing up, and I'm so thankful that our family Christmas tree tradition lasted so long. 

I am extremely sad to report that Sunbrite Christmas Tree Farm in O'Fallon has closed. It appears that their last season was 2013. The business may be gone, but the traditions that we forged there will live on in our memories.

David and James Get a Christmas Tree (2010)

Joel and I don't always put up our three-foot Christmas tree. We've been skipping it every other year, because we're lazy and because we're busy and because nobody even knows whether we set it up or not. 

We plan to be parents someday. Over the last few years, God has directed us towards being foster parents, which may or may not include adopting children. Many children are not eligible for adoption, but still need amazing parents like us. Parents who care about them, teach them about Jesus, decorate for Christmas, share experiences, start traditions, welcome them into a huge loving family with cousins and grandparents and aunts and uncles.

So one December day in the future, probably still several years away, Joel and I will take our children to cut down a fresh Christmas tree. We will find a new Christmas tree farm far away, with woods as far as the eye can see, and we'll take a photo every year. 

... after December 10, of course. 

And when that day comes...

Mom will come over and teach our kids the rules of tinsel.

The One with "The Twelve Days of Christmas In Our Family"

Christmastime is magical when you're a kid, even without Santa Claus. 

We weren't a Santa Claus family. My parents were concerned that if they taught us to believe in Santa Claus, that there would come a day when we'd find out that they lied to us, then question the existence of Jesus, who we also cannot see, and who also sees when we are sleeping and knows when we're awake. But their more immediate concern was that they wanted credit for giving us presents. 

As a matter of fact, I cannot think of any time when my parents lied to us. Sometimes they only told part of the truth, like how Patrick remembers my dad saying that "someone" bought the Nintendo from the garage sale next door, conveniently leaving out the part about it being him. Sometimes the truth was blunt, like when my mom would tell us on the way to the doctor that we were going to get a shot, and that it was going to hurt. But they never lied... or if they did, they were so good that I still don't know about it. 

We were taught to be polite about other people believing in Santa Claus, especially that we were never allowed to tell someone that he wasn't real. My parents tell of one Sunday when Eileen and her friend were in the back seat of the car on the way to church. The friend was talking about Santa Claus, and Eileen was just shaking her head, and making sure Mom and Dad knew that she wasn't saying anything. Anyone who knew Young Eileen, will know what great restraint she showed, as she was not known for her quietness. 

The presents from my parents would get wrapped as they were bought, and stacked up under the Christmas tree. Occasionally there would be an upset, like the time our dog Judy ate through the wrapping paper and box to get to Dad's chocolate covered cherries (he was not pleased). Dad would bring me the presents that he bought for Mom, and I would wrap them. We always got to open one present (of Mom and Dad's choosing) on Christmas Eve. In the few days that followed Christmas, someone might get a bonus gift, if Mom found a hidden present that she forgot to wrap. I remember getting a calendar that had been hidden under the kitchen sink. Eileen sometimes got age-appropriate presents that needed tested by older siblings, such as the Little Tykes 8-key rainbow piano that still resides in my parents basement. 

The only thing as magical as being a kid at Christmastime is watching the next generation of kids start to enjoy Christmas. When my niece Melanie was about three years old, she wanted every present taken out of the packaging as soon as she unwrapped it, which is normal. But then while someone was opening it, she would stare at them, and in a squealing voice, full of Christmas enthusiasm, she'd say, "Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!" until the present was free from the packaging. 

When my nephews David and James were old enough to thoroughly enjoy Christmastime, Patrick began singing them a bedtime song called, "The Twelve Days of Christmas in our Family". It seems like a long time ago that our family could be crammed into twelve lines of a song. By next summer, when Tina and Scott and Sammie are in town, we'll be a party of TWENTY. But back in 2007, when my parents had half as many grandchildren, Patrick wrote these creative descriptions that have held up over time. The only exception (note that phrase, Eileen) is that James has grasped the full range of personal pronouns. 

Here are the lyrics to the classic song, along with the video of it's debut. On the twelfth day of Christmas in our family...
Abby wants what Kate has
Kate wants what Abby has
James says 'my love you'
David's a super helper
Steve can grow a beard
Eileen's kinda whiny
Tanya's super busy
Paaaaat is so cooooool
Joel is super tall
Jean loves ducks
Grandma loves us all
And Grandpa's really got no hair on top

The Twelve Days of Christmas in Our Family

The One With the Stranded Stranger

My family had received a Christmas gift of $100 from an out-of-town pastor's wife, who was friends with my parents, and knew what it was like to be scraping by at Christmastime. The $100 was on the fridge, and no decision had yet been made on how it would be spent, but it was going to be something that the whole family could enjoy.

I remember this happening on Christmas morning, after opening presents, and before we had dinner, because Mom was working on food in the kitchen when Dad got the phone call. [My parents are welcome to correct any details, but I will tell you the version from my Christmas memories.]

At the time, our home phone was also the church phone line. We all answered it as, "Hosanna Calvary Chapel", and it was a normal thing for Dad to get important phone calls, during which we should be quiet, and if he wanted to speak privately, he would walk down the basement stairs with the long phone cord from near the back door. That Christmas morning, he got a call from a pastor in Maine, who told him that there was a man stranded in Illinois, not far outside of St. Louis, trying to get home to Maine, and needed money for gas and food. Would Dad be willing to give him money, and this pastor that Dad had never met would send him a check?

We had $100 on the fridge.

Dad got off the phone and called all of us together and told us the situation of the stranger who was stranded and trying to get home. He said that this $100 belonged to our whole family, and all of us had to make a decision together. He could take the man the money, and we would probably get it back in a few weeks, but there was the chance that we might not. What did we want to do?

We all quickly agreed that Dad should take the money to help the man. Mom made up a bunch of sandwiches, and Dad left to go help this stranger. Shortly afterwards, we were reimbursed the money, and I have no idea what it was spent on. But I do remember that as children, we were included in the decision, and given the opportunity to choose to make a sacrifice to help someone. My dad could have made the decision himself. He would have also not taken the money if we had not decided to help. My parents taught us a wonderful lesson about giving that day, which also embraces the very spirit of Christmas and everything that God has done for us, to sacrifice something of great worth, to save someone else.

Oh... but the story doesn't stop with my childhood memories...

Because years and years later, my dad was on a trip in Israel. The whole tour group was sitting around a table, and this story was being told. My dad told his side, including how blessed he was that his family wanted to minister. Then the pastor from Maine told his side, about what was happening in the stranded man's life, how he made it home, and how he's serving the Lord in the church. Then my Dad told the pastor from Maine that the only reason my family was able to help the stranded man was because of the $100 we had been given from the pastor's wife,... who was also sitting at their table.

The One Where We Got the Nintendo

It was the Christmas we went to Ohio. My parents drove through the night, and put Baby Eileen's car seat in the front seat between them, so that Patrick and I could sleep in the back. One of us slept on the bench seat, one of us on the floor with pillows stuffed around that hump in the middle of the car. I remember stopping at a rest stop and putting on our coats to go use the bathroom and it was that bitter winter cold that is only found in Ohio. It was on this trip that we first heard the song, "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer", and Patrick and I laughed so hard! It was the funniest song we had ever heard!
 
For weeks leading up to the trip, my parents told Patrick and I that they had bought us one big gift to share. They reiterated this many times, making sure that we would not be disappointed over opening one shared gift. We were excited, and over and over again said that we would not be disappointed, that we wanted the big shared present. Keep in mind that my parents were poor. We were not allowed to ask for things at the grocery store, where the cheapest of everything was bought. Back then, squeeze bottles of ketchup were new, so my mom would buy ketchup sold in the cheaper glass bottle and pour it into the same reused squeeze bottle at home. (They don't love me telling that, but rest assured that they can afford squeeze bottle ketchup now.) But for you to realize how big our shared present was, you have to realize that they couldn't afford the extra 10 cents for squeeze bottle ketchup.

We couldn't imagine what our big shared present would be, but I guessed it would be a large item. By the time Mom and Dad were telling us about the Most Amazing Shared Present, we had long since forgotten the garage sale in the basement of the duplex next door, where our neighbor had been selling a Nintendo for $50, half the retail price. I remember that Patrick and I pointed out the bargain to my parents. Note that we did not *ask* for the Nintendo, because we were not supposed to ask for things. Instead we used our skills of giving hints, such as, "Look at this Nintendo", subtly admire it, keep walking. We knew there was no way that they were going to get us a Nintendo, we weren't crazy.

So there we were in Ohio, all the presents having been opened, and my parents asked if we were ready to open The Shared Present. It seems like they even went to get it out of a closet. Then they presented us with a teeny tiny box, about the size of a business card, wrapped. We were so confused, because how could our shared present be in such a small box? When we opened it, we found a picture of a Nintendo, clipped from an ad. We were so excited! I don't remember anything of the drive home, perhaps because we were looking forward to playing Super Mario Bros. I do remember that as soon as we walked in the door, Dad immediately set it up for us, even though it was past our bedtime.

The Nintendo itself was a fantastic present, as well as the hype that led up to it. But what I love best about this Christmas memory was how much it cost my parents: a fortune.