Dear,Henley June,
When one serves on a church staff, her schedule differs greatly from the rest of the world’s. For example, the world (including your Father) is on vacation this week. Why? Christmas is only two days away. However, while the rest of the world is slowing down and sleeping in, our team’s anxiety is increasing as we prep for three Christmas Eve services along with our usual Sunday plans for this weekend and the next.
It probably doesn’t help that ninety-percent of our staff is over-committed and are just begging for some holy scraps as we crawl into that sliver of time we have each carved out for ourselves to worship; but that’s a whole another post. While there is a lil’ bit of bitterness here, the many perks of my position out-weigh the above. After ten years on a church staff, I have come to learn that only the truly called survive the roller-coaster that is “local church ministry”. I feel called to serve here, and that is why I am “ok” with the fact that we can’t head south to experience Christmas with my roots.
Since we aren’t heading south to be with my family this holy-day, I’d figure this would be an ideal time to reminisce, and share my favorite Christmas moments from home with you. Each Christmas Eve, the entire family would join our church family in worship. During communion, my mother and father would hold our hands tight as we knelt to pray. Dad would get a little teary-eyed, but would quickly recover with a corny joke. The lights in the sanctuary would then dim, and the candle-lighting would begin. I can still hear Pepa’s Charlie Pride-like voice singing Silent Night as he tipped his candle to light mine. As I peered down that long pew, each relative’s face looked as though it was kissed by the sun. Though we all walked different paths, we were all hoping to kneel in that stable. Some years my family would gleefully skip to Bethlehem and others we would slowly grovel with broken-hearts.
After the worship service, we would have hot cocoa and read The Night Before Christmas and the account of Jesus’ birth from Luke 2. All four kids and two parents would have a chance to read aloud. We would then set out cookies for Santa. Once Dad began having blood pressure issues, these were replaced with carrots. After the four of us kids went to bed, Mom and Dad would then get to work.
Like Redbull-sippin’ elves, they would stay up ‘till the wee hours, wrapping, stuffing stockings, and preparing for the scavenger hunt. We would each get one big gift on Christmas morning, but in order to find it we would have to follow the clues written inside of our stockings. Each clue was written as a riddle. To add to the fun, “Santa” would also compose an affirming letter to each child. It would bring up and rejoice over each highlight in our lives that past year. From grades, to earning solos, to our first jobs, “Santa” remembered everything and wanted to congratulate us in faded ink from our family’s super-old printer.
After we would un-wrap gifts, Mom would whip up some apple turnovers. They were beyond delicious. While she baked to the sounds of Nat King Cole, Dad would attempt to tackle any gift that required some assembling. Mema and Pepa would soon arrive and join the festivities. The rest of the day would hold cooking, board games and catching up with relatives. Some years, we would carry home-baked goodies to the neighbors. The days that followed would most often hold antiquing with my mom, Mema, and sisters. Good times! We would also watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation and Four Christmases. Classics like these never get old.
Your father and I hope to carry on a portion of these traditions, along with cutting down our own tree each year. Can you imagine that? Us treading through the deep, Midwestern snow in hopes of finding the perfect tree? It sounds so fun, I just can’t stand it!