When We Think of Christmas

When we think of Christmas, we think of a tree that we as a family would go to the woodlot and pick the very best, cut it down and bring it home, and set it up in the honorary corner. The tree that we lovingly adorned with everything from a feather to a stocking. Then came the most treasured adornment. The star, that was stored the year round in a secret place in the attic. Each Christmas Dad would go and bring it down, and we would all cheer, and wait impatiently for one of us to be chosen to be the one to place that silver star on the top most spike. Then on the night before Christmas we would lie awake, trying to hear the gliding of Santa’s sleigh through the frosty air, or listen breathlessly to try and catch the sound of the reindeer. It was all quite a pleasant time full of awesome memories, the special time of year.  As I think back on it, I think it was the time when we were all the happiest. I even remember the time when my brother told me that santa only brought gifts for the good little boys and girls.  He told me that because he had helped wash the dishes every evening for a whole month that santa was going to bring him everything he wished for. I watched him write that letter, sign it and give it to my Dad who would with a smile on his face say that only they knew the secret address to santa. We really believed then that santa was real, and that the red nosed reindeer really did lead his team, and that Mrs. Santa really did make those gingerbread cookies, or that the elves really were tiny little dwarves who lived in little underground mansions deep in the Artic wilderness.  But now that I have grown up from those youngster days, I now know where all those pleading letters went. But during those times, It was actually fun believing that he was real, and that he really did have a deep voice, and a white beard, and that he really had those deep blue eyes, as clear as an Artic spring.  The idea that santa was real was what woke us up in the morning on Christmas day before daybreak to see what he had left in our stockings.  But I think what was the most special was how Christmas really started. It didn’t start with the first mention of santa, it really started a long time before that. With the birth of a little boy in a manger. That baby boy was Jesus and he would grow up to become the Savior of the world. The story that Dad would read to us around the fireplace on Christmas was as real to me as anything, even realer than the thought of Santa. Santa really didn’t do anything to change the world, he really is only an idea. On the other hand Jesus lived and died for us. Now that really meant something to a young mind like me. The hardest question of all was how in the world could someone send his own son down from heaven to die on a tree for me. After what I’d done. No I wasn’t a really bad boy, but I had done some things I wasn’t proud of. Like steal a couple nickels from my brother’s piggy bank, or stuff all my clothes underneath my bed when my mom told me to clean my room. No that wasn’t no great sin, but it was still a sin.  I knew that I was a sinner, and that night on Christmas eve, when  I knelt by that small window, and watched the clouds sail across that frosty moon, the extent of what Jesus had done for me really became a reality.  It wasn’t no great lightning bolt across the sky, but it was a peace, the kind of peace that passeth all understanding.  As each Christmas we shop for all the little trinkets that we think we need, and see that scene with Jesus in the manger, it really doesn’t do justice to the real meaning of Christmas, not even a tiny bit. If we forget what Christmas really represents, then we’ve really put a disgrace on the one person who we really should be celebrating. Anyways, Happy holidays, and a blessed New Year!