Where I grew up, snow on Christmas day was a high probability and cold was an absolute. When we pushed the Christmas tree through the front doorway, it often dropped a bit on snow on floor and sent Mom in a hustle to mop up the mess. The house was soon filled with the smell of evergreen. Mom ran the sweeper. Dad cleaned up the sap. Wrapped presents appeared from secret hideaways. Lights were strung, ornaments were hung, and tinsel added the final touch. We were ready.
Christmas morning we opened our presents at home… Saint John, New Brunswick… frost on the windows and a fire in the hearth. Then, we loaded the car and drove 186 miles to Bangor, Maine… home of Grammy and Grampie Crabtree.
They lived in a whitewashed parsonage with narrow dormers and a brick walk slick with ice in the winter and moss in the summer. A mammoth blue spruce, laden with snow, stood in a circle drive that served the house and the church. My grandparents lived in a Christmas postcard. Upon our arrival we opened more presents and gathered round a large dining room table for a veritable Christmas feast. I can see it, hear it, smell it… turkey and hot rolls, old stories punctuated with laughter, and Grampie carving away with that revolutionary new invention: the electric carving knife.
My Grandparents are home in heaven now, having left a legacy of faith and love and countless Christmas memories. My parents still travel on Christmas. They come to see us, and our kids… and this year… a new generation.
Roles have changed over time. I lead the Christmas production crew now. We make Christmas memories. Our house is Christmas central. This year will be something special. Oh, I know my twin grandsons won’t remember their first Christmas, but we will. We’ll gather around a Christmas table and tell old stories, celebrate new life, and remember the Baby who changed the world. We’ll gather in the relative luxuries of modernity and remember the one who became “poor that we might be made rich.” We’ll be a bit crowded, but that’s never a problem in a house of love.
On Christmas morning, I’ll be up early to light a fire and start the coffee. If we could only have a bit of snow and frosted windows, it just might be our best Christmas yet.
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