A Morning to Remember

Six kids lined up in the hallway, oldest to youngest. 18 to 1.

The oldest “ssshhh-ing” everyone so we wouldn’t “wake up Mom and Dad”. The second already making plans in her mind about the rest of the day. Third was giddy about what might be under the tree, but wishing she had just a few more minutes of sleep. The fourth so excited about what “Santa” might have brought – wondering if her hints during the last month were enough!

Number five so wrapped up in himself and what he wants that he doesn’t notice how loud he has gotten and gets another “ssshhh!” from the oldest, and a glare and a wink from number two! He also hasn’t noticed that number six is no longer holding his hand, but crawling through the kitchen on his way to the other door!

Suddenly there was with the multitude a bleary-eyed mother, at first a little exasperated that she hasn’t had two hours sleep after making many gifts for her precious children, and wrapping the rest, along with baking for the dinner to come; but in an instant so proud and full of joy to watch her children strain with excitement at what might be under the tree – that tree that is loaded with icicles and barely standing straight, propped and tied here and there to keep it vertical for just a few more days.

It’s almost time – almost time but there is one missing – he has worked all night – worked all night because on Christmas Eve night he can earn half a week’s pay. He gets double-time-and-a-half for those eight hours – maybe, just maybe enough to pay for what lies under that beautiful, children-decorated tree. We are waiting breathlessly and then we lights outside – headlights of someone’s pick-up truck or car. We can’t tell but we know it’s one of the carpool guys. On Knoop, Mauser, Fowler or Ashley, or could it be Dad drove and dropped the others off already. However he got here, HE’S HERE!
We wait, the door knob turns, (we hear keys, we can’t see, still lined down the hall!), as he opens the front door, flips the wall switch and that beautiful, tilting tree lights up as if it’s at Rockefeller Center!
The signal is given, sort of, and we run into the living room, look expectantly at Dad, who nods through glazed work-weary eyes and we all pile onto the floor looking for THAT present we so much wanted. Some presents aren’t even wrapped, left hurriedly by Santa on his way to somewhere across the nation. We can’t believe we see what we see – presents we didn’t even dare ask for, spread across the floor in front of that tree – presents that only Santa could have brought – Mom and Dad couldn’t have known or afforded things so grand.
Now Dad puts down his lunch box, sits down in his chair, picks up his Bible and waits. Mom clears her throat, lifts her voice and calls for everyone to be quiet.
Dad’s already opened his Bible to that favorite passage for this day, Luke 2. He waits for wiggles and giggles and punches and frowns and smiles and glares to stop, then begins to read – “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus…” and he continues through the passage so familiar to each of us, except number six who heard it once, but only as an infant himself.
“…And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord…But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.”
When he had finished, he made sure we understood that THIS was the true meaning of Christmas, and we should never forget it.
Now, at last, we could open our presents. But now the presents looked different. They had a different meaning. They weren’t just the most amazing thing on the market that year. They weren’t just the newest style – or at least a good copy of it from a McCall’s pattern. They weren’t just the one thing we had hoped for but not dared ask for all year. They were more. They were an expression – a symbol – of LOVE. His love for us and our parents’ love for us.
None of us will ever forget those days. They are long gone and we each have families. But this morning, in an hour or so, some of those six and some of their children, and that bleary-eyed mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and great-great-grandmother will gather in that same living room, waiting expectantly, and read that same passage. Memories will flood their minds, as they do mine, and they will recall, not only the true meaning of Christmas, but the wealth of love that overflows that little living room, from the hearts of parents who cared and still care, for their little lambs.