CHRISTMAS TRADITIONS?

I wonder if Christmas traditions are to give it some familiarity?

Hm... Traditions, ... like going to Granny's house every Christmas morning, still wearing jammies, and eating her special breakfast crepes. No, not me or my family, but the family, on the evening news I'm watching as I write this. A grandson is being interviewed and he is sharing that family tradition. I wonder what will they do this year since a fire destroyed the home? I suppose they will carry on this tradition in another family home, still in their jammies but with a heavy heart. I suppose it won't be the same without their childhood home carassing their memories like a warm fireplace.

Fireplace?

Ok, maybe not a fireplace.

My family didn't have any traditions. Our early Christmas's were full of trauma. I remember lots of drinking and even a few family brawls. And Christmas's in my teens are strangely absent from my memory. We were poor, I remember that. And we gathered often with my Mom's parents, in Paxton, NE, for some great Christmas meals ... but that's all I can recall. Why is that?

I remember a dark depression, that seemed to always creep in around the Christmas holiday time for most of my life. Can depression fog one's memories? I know drugs and alcohol can. And by the time I was 13, I was deep in the discovery of the Hippie movement and I remember more, the political issues of that day, than of any Christmas traditions.

I guess it was when my son came along, that Christmas traditions for me, for us, began to evolve. It was a slow process though. I had alot of emotional baggage to sort through and when I finally cleaned up my life and tried to become a responsible Mom, Christmas traditions then became more special.

My son was born two weeks before Christmas. Guess you could say he was a near Christmas baby. That first Christmas of his was at Grandma and Grandpa's. I had been living with them for a month before my son was born. They found me, near 8 months pregnant, living in an apartment with no food and I couldn't pay the rent. That just wouldn't do for Grandma and against Grandpa's grumblings, she packed my very few belongings and moved me home with them. That Christmas, I don't remember any gifts, so guess you could say my son was my gift. I wouldn't embrace this so lovingly, as I do now, for another 4 years though. Grandma, on the other hand, immediately embraced my son as a very special gift, that 1st Christmas of his.

My son's second Christmas is remembered only by the violent fella whom I sneaked out of my grandparents home, in the middle of the night, when my son wasn't quite 2 months old, to run off with. I broke Grandma's heart that night. Our relationship turned from desperately close to an anger/guilt canyon that we could never bridge. She hated the fella I took off with, taking 'her' baby boy from her. Hindsight has me wishing I would have stayed. And the violent world that swallowed us up, only added to my dark depressions during Christmas in the years to follow, and I use to use this memory to punish me. Telling myself that I deserved nothing less for the wake of heartache I caused my Grandma.

I believe my son was 5 years old when our Christmas's began to take on some healing, peace and joy. I was just beginning to open my heart up to a God of my understanding and that understanding was less than a mustard seed back then. I had a job, an apartment and bought my first nice car. A Ford Galaxie 500. That Christmas was so full of hope.

A single mom, who was so very poor, that our Christmas tree was one of our house plants. We hung shiny blue balls, with clumps of tinsel, on this droopy little plant and put lights around the living room window. On Christmas Eve we camped out by our little Christmas converted house plant and on Christmas morning we had a cup of hot chocolate before opening the few presents we had. That Christmas began my tradition of hope. I think I even prayed that year for our Christmas's to grow more healing. And they have. It was the beginning of so many wonderful Christmas's. The tears of yesteryear began to dry.

Now, nearly 45 Christmas's later, there are many traditions.

I put up the holiday decorations the day after Thanksgiving and while decorating the tree, I drink egg nog. The kids will tell you I'm very particular about where the tree decorations are placed. In fact, I confess, they will tell you I'm anal about it.

As far as all the other traditions? Well, maybe next year I'll write about them. Familiarity is why I like to have them. But unlike the decorating of the tree, I'm very flexible with my traditions. No year is the same as the last. Familiar, similar, but very flexible.

Our family Christmas will be held on New Year's Day this year. Or rather, next year. And Prime Rib will be the Christmas/New Year's meal. The expense of such a meal will not become one of our traditions. Back to turkey and/or ham next year. :)

This Christmas, I don't feel that dark depression. This Christmas I am full of much gratitude that the Christmas joy also includes my love for Jesus and that makes the celebration all the more richer in healing, in grace, in hope.

The familiar painful memories of yesteryear are fading. Now Christmas is special and familiar in a loving way and in the traditions we are continually growing that bind us together.