Thoughts at Christmas

Gilbertsville Presbyterian Church in winter. Photo: Jan Costello

When I was growing up, Christmas was always magical. We would come home from Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve and be tucked into beds almost immediately. My brother and I were hoping for what would be lying under our Christmas tree in the morning. My parents’ room was next to mine, but I always slept like a rock, so I never heard them go downstairs, light the tree and put the presents underneath and then go to bed themselves, no doubt exhausted from everything.

The next morning, somewhere between 5:30 and 6 am, my brother, who probably barely slept,  would come into my room and wake me up. It was Christmas morning, there was no time for sleep! So, there we were in our pajamas, bathrobes and slippers, quietly going past Mom and Dad’s room and downstairs into the room with the tree. It was not yet dawn, so the Christmas lights gently illuminated the presents now laying underneath the lowest branches.

We would read the labels, and open the presents, one by one. Mark would impatiently tear open the paper,  I took my time and carefully opened each one. We’d see what the other received, and marvel at the goodies, many of which had been requests on our Christmas list. Somehow, we always got sweaters or socks or clothing as well. We never thought of asking for those, good thing Mom was in charge.

My parents would always come down at a more reasonable hour, and we’d show them what we got, and give them the presents we bought for them with our allowances, or that we made in school. They made as much fuss over scarves, slippers and school arts and crafts as we made over our gifts. Who knew they really needed tin pans with plaster casts of our hands? We had great parents.

My Mom would make hot chocolate, we’d have some breakfast, and then we had to get bundled up again to go to Christmas Day mass. When we were too young to be left home by ourselves, we had to go to every service, since Mom was the organist and choir director, and Dad was on all kinds of lay committees and had to be there too. Christmas mass was not as well attended as Midnight mass, but there was always a devout crowd in our tiny church. We snoozed through a lot of it.

Then we’d come home, our presents waiting for us to use. We always had lots of snow by Christmas; one year we got new sleds, or new mittens and boots to run around in, while Mom cooked Christmas dinner. We often got board games that the entire family could play and other fun things. Life was good.

Winter in the Butternut Valley. Photo: Jan Costello

As a child, I was blissfully unaware of the world. I didn’t know the country was entering a long and disastrous war in Vietnam, I had a vague understanding of the fight for Civil Rights that was changing the South and the nation, although I was aware of prejudice. I didn’t know the planet was drowning in pollution. But that certainly wasn’t on my mind on those Christmas mornings. I didn’t know that my parents used their savings to make sure we had nice presents under the tree and that Mark and I were totally unaware of any financial troubles they were having.

We had presents under the tree, a warm and safe home, food on the table and two loving and attentive parents. All was well in our world on Christmas morning when I was a child.

I wish everyone reading this joy and love, peace and happiness, health and prosperity in the coming year. It’s been a rough one for many reasons, with devastating personal losses, a myriad of struggles, and an underlying fear that the world we live in is changing in ways that no one could have imagined and would never want. Hate, war, death and destruction are everywhere.

Yet, despite everything, there is also much joy. Goals have been accomplished, music is back in my life, beauty has been sought and found, friendships new and old have been strengthened. This summer I saw friends I haven’t seen in decades, both high school classmates and my friends – brothers and sisters, really, in Canada. When last I saw most of them, they were just starting families, now they all have grandchildren. Time flies, we get creaky and grey, but love and friendship remain. We simply picked up where we left off.

As I was driving around doing last minute errands yesterday, I passed all kinds of houses decorated with lights and seasonal décor, but one house stood out to me, and exemplifies what I wish for everyone. Lights outlined the porch and balustrades, with a large flag hanging from the roof. It had a simple but powerful message that spoke to me, as I hope it can speak to you in this angry world.

The flag simply said, “Be kind.”

Stained glass detail, Gilbertsville Presbyterian Church. Photo: Jan Costello