By Jeff Guy
The model train chugged along a metal track around the Christmas Tree at my Grandma Mac’s house in Augusta, Kan. I thought it was so cool that the grandparents got a real tree every year while my parents had an artificial one. And the train! It had been my mom and uncle Dave’s toy when they were kids in the ‘50s (which seemed like so long ago) and here it was, still going 20 years later. It would finally poop out a year or two later.
It was dark outside. The evening of Christmas Eve. And every year, at that time, Mom and Gandma never missed the opportunity to attend the candlelight service at The First Baptist Church, taking us kids with them. It was tradition – like the pictures of the kids sitting under the Christmas Tree each year, opening presents at the grandparent’s house on Christmas Eve night and opening presents at home on Christmas morning.
My siblings and I would wake my mom and step-dad up at the buttcrack of dawn to open presents, but it seemed like every year, we slept in a little later until I was a teenager and lost the Christmas spirit. The magic gone. It was a little kid’s holiday, I thought.
I didn’t find my joy again until I was married with kids of my own. I’m not really one for Do-it-yourself projects, but I loved putting a doll house together for my daughter on Christmas Day, just as I loved giving my son “fighter guys” and Harry Potter books.
Now my kids are grown. My son is out on his own and I don’t see him every year on Christmas Day. It may be that way with my daughter in a few years when she’s out on her own. Honestly, in the past seven years since I’ve been divorced, Christmas has been a lonely holiday for me. I’ll find myself alone at the house, wishing I was still a kid at my grandparent’s house, believing in Santa Claus. I didn’t know then that one day all the food and presents (I used to get so greedy at Christmas) would one day mostly be forgotten, that they were really the backdrop for what was really important – family and togetherness.
This year, I lacked Christmas spirit for much of the holiday, but I was eager to restore some before the big day came. Last night on Christmas Eve, I was jonesing to get to a candlelight service. My little church in the surrounding neighborhood wasn’t having one, but I drove east a few blocks on Harvey Street and attended the service at the First United Methodist Church. While we were singing, my phone went off. “Dad,” it read on the screen. So I walked back to the church library and took the call.
“I just wanted to check up on you,” the old man said.
“Sorry, I haven’t called all day,” I said. “I meant to.”
“That’s alright.”
“Actually, I’m in a church right now.”
“Okay, well I’ll just call you back later or you can call me.”
This morning, with Kenzie at her mom’s house, I went to The Nazarene Church where I attend. I didn’t think there would be many people, but we had a full house. People I didn’t even know had put Christmas cards in my church mailbox.
A few days earlier, when stressfully trying to write my annual Christmas parody letter, I posted random, unfiltered thoughts to Facebook.
“I remember school Christmas programs,” I wrote. “Singing ‘Silent Night.’ I’d sing the lyrics, ‘Round yon virgin’ and wonder, ‘What’s a virgin?’”
Sitting in church this morning, I felt a bit guilty. I tend to be a flippant guy, but I didn’t want anyone to think I was devaluing the virgin birth. And besides, it’s true. I didn’t know what the word meant when I was a little kid.
The truth is I can be pretty reverent when it’s called for. Advent candles, the birth of the Christ child, the light of the world – that’s a big deal to me. Communion, I take seriously.
Life has taught me nothing, if not how to be patient. I look at my friend Tammy's pictures on Facebook of her grandchildren at her house on Christmas. Tammy and I went to school together. Eventually, my kids will likely have kids of their own and Christmas will be better again. The cycle will repeat itself. I gotta say, Tammy and her husband, Brian, are stellar grandparents.
Other friends from school. Well, there’s Theresa. She’s a loyal reader of this blog. She lost her dad this year and he was a super, great guy. Her mother is still alive, as is my dad and step-dad, but it won’t last forever. “I’m not ready to be the oldest generation,” she told me.
My friend Dawn lost her husband, Chris, this year. So I know the holiday had to be tough for her. She had visits from her kids and friends, though, and I’m glad.
I have an older friend, Barbara, a retired teacher in the Augusta school district. She and her husband, Bob, a retired teacher and principal, were true assets to the community. Bob passed away a year ago, and Barb moved to Oklahoma to be near her kids and grandkids. I told her she did the right thing. When I told her I was lonely on Christmas, she said, "I sure wish I was closer. I'd have you over for some enchilada casserole and chocolate cake."
There’s Dylan and his wife, Beth. We’ve all known each other since school, but it was only recently that they formed a relationship. Dylan and Beth were married earlier this year – his second marriage and her third.
A few years ago, I was messing around at Dylan’s house on State Street. We were enjoying libations, shooting the breeze. Kenzie was there and Dylan embarrassed me when he told her, “Your dad and I got in a fight once.” But it’s cool.
Enjoy what’s left of the season. Be good to people. Especially your family. And know you're not alone.
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