I'll Be Home For Christmas...
...Almost. Even now, after all these years, I can think back and almost smell those wonderful aromas from Mama's cooking. She knew she was creating memories--every year after Thanksgiving, she'd slowly steep orange peel or cinnamon in a bit of water, allowing its fragrance to waft throughout the house. That little "good smells" pan would occupy its place on the stove until after New Year's.
Mama would bring out the bag of pine cones Dale and I had harvested earlier in the year--when the seeds inside were still red. They would be decorated and arranged on the double window sill in the living room, where the tree would soon stand. The two of us got to hunt and find the tree, tying a large red ribbon on it. Daddy would cut it and bring it to the house. Carefully packed away every year, the same decorations were used time and again, with those we made reminding us of each previous Christmas. Dale and I were expected to create gifts--to use our child's imagination to make something pretty to give to others. Daddy always proclaimed them "wonderful". From Thanksgiving to the middle of December, we were busy with our own gift-making projects to leave with those we visited and to have something to give those who visited with us.
Mama always purchased "canned snow" for us to use on the windows and the tree. I remember the year the "snow" would not come out of the can. Mama got a safety pin and stuck it in the spray hole. Unfortunately for her, she forgot to turn the can when she hit the trigger: Mama got snowed, glasses and all. Fortunately for Dale and me, we were faster than her and got away to collapse in gales of laughter as we recalled her look of astonishment. Even Daddy got in a few good laughs when he got home that night: Mama still had "snow" in her hair. She was good natured about it and delayed our cookies and milk only half an hour as she pretended to be wounded by our laughter. It didn't take too much to coax her out of it, and we helped her get the snow out of her hair.
Then there was the "year" of Vicky Lynn. Earlier that year, a second cousin had been born and I thought her name was about the prettiest I'd ever heard. For several weeks, Dale and I sat in the car with Daddy while Mama went into a certain department store every Friday. Her "secret" was revealed that Christmas when Dale unwrapped his beautiful little metallic-blue Cadillac, and I unwrapped my Betsy-Wetsy--the gifts Mama had paid for through "lay-a-way". My lovely baby doll was named "Vicky Lynn". (Years later, I would name my son "Ricky Lynn" and 25 years later, he would marry a girl named "Vickie Lynn". Neat, huh?) Baby Vicky Lynn has survived two daughters rather well--she still looks pretty good, wrapped in that beautiful little pink dress and aqua blanket Mama made for her and dressed her in, all those Christmases ago. For several years after I got her, she was the "star" player as the "baby Jesus" in the childrens' presentation of "The Christmas Story" at church.
	It was only after I was grown that I realized Mama and Daddy never exchanged gifts between themselves at Christmas. When Daddy came home from his store each evening, he would turn on his huge old radio and we'd listen to Christmas carols, from "Away In A Manger" to Gene Autry's "Here Comes Santa Claus". We were never taught to believe in "Santa Claus". Sure, they always read "T'was The Night Before Christmas" and so on, as we gathered close at night after supper and watch the lights on the tree. Mama and Daddy told us about their own early years, but not once was a "Santa Claus" made responsible for our gifts. They read the traditional stories and poems to us, but each night ended with a story from the Bible and a prayer. We were always brought right back to dead center: it was God Who was our constant provider, not some man in a red suit who only showed up once a year. They made certain we were taught the difference.
Visits from aunts, uncles and cousins during those days before Christmas are still remembered and treasured. While the aunts helped Mama in the kitchen, Daddy and the uncles would allow us children to play quietly as we listened to them recall their own experiences from Christmases gone by. Ever so often, an uncle who had seen military action would recall his days away from home during Christmas. We could tell from the way they recounted their story, those memories were still painful. Those who had given their lives in service to our country were remembered as we gave thanks for those of us who were able to be together.
Oh, the stories that were told those cold winter evenings by our visitors and parents. If Dale were here, I think he'd still agree: we loved the story of the "baby Jesus" best of all. Daddy could tell it in such a special way: he never left that baby in the manger--He always reminded us that "that baby" was our King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Yes, Jesus may have started His life on this earth as a baby, but His mission and entire purpose of life was to fulfill the Will of His (and our) Father in Heaven--that Salvation was made available to all mankind through Jesus Christ.
At the start of each December, Daddy would announce at church that those who could were to bring canned goods to be given to needy families in the area. On the week-end they were to be delivered, Mama and I would "harvest" fresh hens to be cleaned and frozen. Mama always prepared a batch of her "best-in-the-world" dressing to go along with each of them. Dale and I would make small favors for each family's table out of pine cones or branches, adding acorns, bunches of holly and bright red or green ribbon. We also helped prepare the bag of goodies for the kids at church and those in the families the boxes of food went to: fresh fruit, nuts, and various candies in plain paper bags.
As children, Dale and I got to experience the pangs of disappointment, too--we were not protected from them. Mama and Daddy provided that which we needed and did their best to provide that which we wanted, but never to the extent that money needed for all of us was sacrificed for one. Some years were leaner than others, but Mama and Daddy always managed to get us something. Each Christmas season, Daddy took us around to the various hang-outs of the hoboes to check up on them. He always reminded us that they, too, had once been a child--some mother's son. He would solemnly say, "If I hadn't grabbed hold of the hand God reached down in the gutter for me, I'd still be there today."
More than once, to Mama's dismay, we'd see Daddy take off his own coat and leave it around the shoulders of a stranger. We didn't have a lot of money--thankfully there was a local "Goodwill" and it wouldn't cost too much to replace Daddy's outerwear. He went through gloves the same way, always claiming they "made his hands dry". Whenever the weather permitted, he would ask Dale and me to sing a Christmas song to each of the folks he spoke with. From the stories he told us, we knew Daddy had seen some mighty bleak Christmas seasons; he just wanted to let those men who were as he had once been, know that somebody cared about them--that Jesus loved them. He always left them gospel tracts, a new testament, and the address of a nearby restaurant where they could get a meal.
Daddy and Mama taught us that before we could get, we had to give. Mama would go through our toys and our clothes; she'd take away surplus items we had accumulated or outgrown during the year, clean and repair them, and make certain they were given to those who could use them. Daddy was a great one for giving books--one year he sacrificed [what was to us] a large amount of money for a beautifully-illustrated set of Bible Stories (they are still produced today). Even so, we had to be willing to give before we could get.
In 1969, we spent our last Christmas together with Mama and Daddy at the hospital where Mama was recovering from surgery for stomach cancer. By that time, Daddy had already suffered several strokes--it would be his last Christmas with us.
Daddy passed from this life in 1970; the old home place was destroyed by fire somewhere around 1978, and Mama died in 1985. Our two older children are grown and married. They have begun their own Christmas traditions with their families. Christmases around here have grown a lot quieter now. Ill health has somewhat curtailed my activities. Yet I easily recall not too long ago, my own children gathered up clothes and toys and fixed them up to take to the fire station for distribution to others.
It's come full circle now, I suppose. I have snow in my own hair, but not from a spray can. As the others travel in their visits this Christmas, I'll happily settle back in front of the fire and remember the love we shared so many many years. Yes, I'll remember the funny stories of Santa, but most of all, I will remember life lessons I was taught and in turn, taught to my children for them to teach to theirs. Those attitudes of love and compassion we especially strive for at "Christmas" must be a year-long attitude. It cannot be "seasonal"--it must reach beyond the commercialization and travesties of this world to communicate a message of the love God has toward us all, each and every day. That wonderful, ageless message of love that God loved us so much, He sent His only begotten Son, Jesus Christ, to bring it personally to us. And it has been further preserved through time in the written words of Scriptures that we need to learn, to not only hide in our hearts and minds, but allow to shine through in our actions toward others every day of our years.
Yes, thank You Jesus, for all the years and ALL the memories. I'll just settle down here and bask in the love I've been blessed to receive. And while I'm resting, I think I'll just shut my eyes for a bit and drop by the old homeplace . . .
if only in my dreams...
"I'll Be Home For Christmas..." From "Christmas Memories" Copyright © 2000 by Patricia Sikes. All Rights Reserved
I'll Be Home For Christmas
If you have been blessed, give God the Glory! Please sign our guestbook; let us know you enjoyed "I'll Be Home For Christmas...". Thank you so much for visiting He Is Able!
With the exception of the King James Bible, ALL material on He Is Able is protected by copyright.