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This really is my favorite time of the year.
Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack on an endless YouTube loop on my computer as I click away on work, punch out tweets and draft email blasts.
Dribbling out presents to Mary and George one at a time in the days leading up to Christmas to keep them settled down, and mom and dad sane.
Listening for snow plows to rumble past our house in the middle of the night, signaling the season’s first snow fall.
It’s also a time that I reflect on Christmases long ago.
I am a pastor’s kid. Christmas Eve service — like all others throughout the year — was mandatory. And I say mandatory because it felt like a mandate. It was hard to sit through, more so for a prepubescent with undiagnosed ADD.
I’d always foul things up, pushing my sister off her chair, talking during the sermon or letting candle wax drip onto my slacks. That was the excuse my mom needed to ground me in the car when we got home. The 10 minute penance was just enough for Santa to get the presents under the tree.
There is also the time of taking plates of cookies with my dad to the Combined Locks police and fire departments. It’s a tradition I carry on to this day when I bring treats to county corrections officers and 911 dispatchers on Christmas and other holidays.
But my favorite memories are Christmases on the farm. There wasn’t anything particularly notable about it; just a gathering of aunts and uncles and cousins at the family homestead. For me it just felt special. I adored my grandma and grandpa; I revered my older cousins. Pulling into the driveway, it felt like we were driving in a snow globe.
My dad has long-since retired. Mom passed away, as have my grandma and grandpa.
When I ponder those memories I hear the narrator from the film, Radio Days:
“With the passing of each new year, those voices do seem to grow dimmer and dimmer.”
Take this time to relive your own memories of Christmas past; cherish every moment you have with your loved ones; and if you travel, be sure to give yourself extra room behind the county snow plow truck.
May these days be always merry and bright.
— Tom Nelson
