Happy Christmas

Although we were far away from loved ones today, God kindly gave us a very happy Christmas. He is like that.

I hope I never forget...

The little boys running in and out of the house for more goodies to take to the elderly neighbors up and down the street and returning with more sweets than they took!

Maggie and Rob and I driving down our road to wish "Jimmy OK" a Merry Christmas. Rob's amused amazement at the assortment of grills and couches and such on Jimmy's front lawn, and listening hard to catch a few words as he told how he was smokin' a turkey in da grill fo' his brothah.

On the way home, stopping at Melvin's ancient little farmhouse. Him whispering to me in the doorstep that he'd quick put his beer away because of the kids, and then insisting we come in to the warmth of the woodfire heating his front room. The coziness of it all and the wondrous clutter of old things jammed into the small room.

Him reaching for his old, felt cowboy hat to be formal while he told us how his daddy and mama, who lived in this house, brought him up to be a survivalist. How they moved the house from down the road, where they were sharecroppers.

How he would need to jack up the house, because the rainwater flooding over the Yazoo clay on the construction site across our road could destroy his property.

Looking down at the brown tattered pages of the coverless Bible on the table in front of me, and thinking that maybe that was where Melvin got his equanimity. Not sure, because I don't really think he ever learned to read.

Him and Jimmy OK laughing at me as they directed me how to rock my car to get out of the mud by the road. Then later when we were back in civilization looking at the Christmas lights in the town square, smelling something terribly like a horse barn. Looking down to see the muck on my tires....

All of us filing into one row in the theater to see "Narnia" on Christmas Eve day. Peter belting out loud at funny Mr. Beaver. Afterwards all discussing how close to the book the movie was. And then having a crazy discussion about how for the next twenty-four hours we would not correct the boys English. In fact, No one would correct Anyone about Anything. Just for twenty-four hours. Could we do it?

Later in the twilight, watching an enormous cloud roll across the valley until it shrouded our whole world in dense whiteness. Bob with a flashlight, taking the kids to the end of the driveway to feel the quiet and perfect absence of lights.

Back inside, deciphering his rhyming clues hidden around the house, to solve the yearly Christmas Eve pajama hunt. Peter discovering the bundle of pj's in the tool cupboard. Hearing his and James' ooohs over their new jamas with feet, "just like in Ukraine!"

Bob pouring out a little glass of cheap wine for each child before bed (a tradition handed down by his father intended to put him and his brothers to sleep faster on Christmas Eve). Bob lighting the brass candelabra which James and Peter had sat for hours polishing. Him carrying it, to put the children to bed by candlelight.

Stuffing the stockings before crashing into bed, and then rising early Christmas morning to the smell of turkey and Newfoundland savory stuffing. Bob turning on the Christmas tree lights and lighting the fireplace logs, while I went into the kitchen to baste the turkey. Then both of us dodging back to bed just as seven o'clock chimed.

Rob hiding under James bed to unplug his clock and scare him, and all three boys pushing and giggling into the family room to open their stockings.

Peter's delight at his new Panzer tank with the remote control. James' eyes growing big and hearing him whisper, "coo-ool", as he pulled the sheet from off his new bike beside the tree. And Rob's broad smile at his gift of "Annals of Calvin and Hobbs", and then hearing his contagious chuckle from the fat chair by the fireplace, while Bob, squashed into it next to him, read aloud.

Splitting my sides laughing as Rob made the stretchy little rubber chicken he got from Maggie, walk across the table... Thinking how God must be smiling down at us, enjoying it all. And thinking how easy it is to trust Him if I would just do it.

Maggie wearing earphones, practicing worship songs for Intervarsity on her new keyboard. And Dixie Mae underfoot in the kitchen, begging for turkey gizzard. Rob and Maggie sailing walnut boats in the sink, after the walnut Rob pitched to her cracked against the kitchen wall, when she hit it with a cardboard gift wrap roll!

James and I dashing outside to pick holly leaves and pricking ourselves on the sharp points. Then remembering that the Baby in the manger grew up. And that He was born to die a cruel, painful death. Stopping to think how the red cranberries and the sharp holly leaves foretell that He would shed precious blood for our sins.

Decorating the plum pudding with the leaves and berries, and then pouring a little Newfie Screech around it. Trying to ignite it but finding the cheap Jamaica rum inside the bottle not to be as alcoholic as we'd thought. So giving up, but tasting the stuff on our pudding. Eating too much of everything, and loving it.

Clocking how fast Peter and James could run down the frontage road, when no one but us was out on Christmas night. Piling them back into the car again, and racing to the Reservoir for one last look at the long, thin, red sunset.

Swinging our feet from the dock in the dusk, as the cold breeze blew across the gray, choppy waters. Rob's head disappearing into his jacket and the zipper zipped up over it. Stopping our chatter long enough to listen to God's music of the waves lapping against the shore. Watching the red clouds fade into the other end of the Reservoir, and suddenly realizing Mississippi was dark.

Maggie rescuing Peter's new red glove from the cold water, after he, by mistake dropped it from the dock, then watched in agony while it floated to shore on the dark waves.

Back home, James calling for me to come and see him up a tree in the dark, starlit night. To look with him around the backyard through his new infrared goggles.

Peter in the dark, shooting (and missing!) a deer on the front lawn using his new Nerf gun. And Rob trying out his new telescope, not finding any of the millions of stars, but laughing as he did find the copula of the Am South Bank across the valley.

Tucking Peter in next to his new police car with the siren that really works. The smell of lavender as Maggie's arms came round me from behind, and her voice saying "Merry Christmas, Mommy. It was a good day."