'Twas Three Days Before Christmas

Way down deep, I'm a kid. My favorite memories of Christmas revolve around times spent at my grandparents' house in Paris, Arkansas. I never remember not having a sister and two cousins. Carri, Steve, Teri, and I were the first four of ten grandchildren. Steve and I are just eight months apart in age. If I had lived in Paris we would have grown up more like brothers than cousins.

The Christmas tree with the frosted tips to look like snow. The jillions of colored lights on the tree. Andy Williams singing in the background. My favorite Christmas song was "Ding-a-ling the Christmas Bell" by Lynn Anderson. I bought it on iTunes a couple of years ago. The kitchen counter was always loaded with food. The kitchen table was where the men would eat and later play dominoes.

I remember the gas wall heater we'd back up to then turn around when our backsides were too warm. And I remember the "cold room." Heat never reached there, not even when central heat and air was installed years later. Even the closed in back porch where the kids always ate was not as cold as the "cold room." I'm not sure why, but I always think of the "cold room" when I hear John Denver's "Grandma's Feather Bed." When my grandmother passed away a few years ago, it was in that room that we spent hours looking through boxes and albums of family pictures.

At the heart of our family's Christmas celebration was the true meaning of Christmas. We didn't read the Christmas story but many of us were coming from a church service. I knew I was loved and love like that has just one source. I've grown up to realize the importance of letting the people you love know you love them. The Christmas gatherings for my side of the family were last weekend. The whole, big, extended family still gets together on Christmas Eve but I haven't been able to attend that in a while. I haven't seen my big kids on Christmas Day in many years. But the day we get together isn't as important as letting them know you love them.

And I do. It is a rare occasion that I speak to my big kids or my parents and not tell them I love them. Christmas is part of a grand love story that tells us that God loves us and gave his Son to die for our sins. Easter is part of the same story. And the story never ends because God's love for us never ends. I want my love for my family to never end. Memories help. I see my cousins mostly at funerals these days - like the one earlier this month for my uncle. He was the one who would put on a Santa Claus outfit and walk by the living room window on Christmas Eve. (I think it was Ricky! Maybe it was…)

Was Jesus born on December 25? Does it matter? What matters is that Jesus - the eternal Son of God - entered our world as a human to make a way for sinners like you and me to reunite with our loving creator. That changes this life and eternity. So I will celebrate and pass along the greatest love story ever told.

I still love a Christmas tree decorated with colored lights. Blinking. Because when you sit in the dark living room the lights on the tree will all blink off at the same time once or twice a night. Keep your yuppie white lights; take me back to an old farmhouse with wood floors, a wall heater, a cold room, presents under the tree, food in the kitchen, a domino game, and family.