Christmas 2010 has come and gone.
In an attempt to prevent myself the embarrassment of collapsing into bed like a senior citizen, well before nine o’clock, I hope to capture a few highlights of the season here in my blog.
My Christmas began with a recipe for a fruit cake. Great-Grandmother was a formidable guardian when it came to family recipes. However, I managed to persuade her to share her fruit cake recipe with me back when I was getting married twenty-six years ago. When my own parents were getting married in 1961, handing out pieces of fruit cake to guests was a common wedding tradition, and I wanted to carry that forward. My future husband’s grandmother made her fruit cake annually, at Christmas time. Full of whole almonds and fruit and candied peel and laced weekly with a hearty dose of brandy, this was a fruit cake that even people who professed to hate the stuff could not resist nibbling. My husband and I decided to make the cakes this year to share with our family. Great-Grandma has been gone for twenty-four years, and it was really neat to bring a tiny bit of her back for Christmas. The cake tasted just like hers.
Ice candles were also a part of my family’s Christmas this year (see picture above). My husband has made these glistening ice domes for many years now. With a lit candle inside, they are a beautiful spectacle through the long, dark winter nights. The ice walls protect the flames inside, and the flickering fire-casts on the white snow are beautiful.
Our tree was lovely this year. My husband went out to a tree lot and chopped the tree down himself. It fit the family room perfectly–the height was just right, and the branches were perfectly spaced. This tree was so symmetrical; it hardly needed a stand. My daughters strung popcorn and wound it around the branches. For some strange and unbeknownst reason, this seemingly perfect tree was completely dead within days. Sitting on the couch, you could hear the ping of tiny needles, raining down on the presents beneath. Plugging in the lights was a risk–did we want twinkling lights or bare branches? The slightest movement brought a new rain of needles. The kids winced every time they tried to delicately lift a candy cane from the branches and unleashed a new torrent. By the time presents were opened this morning, we had to sweep a layer of needles off their surfaces. By the end of the present-opening, the carpet under the tree was completely hidden under a thick blanket of green needles.
Christmas Eve at St. John’s last night was truly beautiful. St. John’s is an old church, not overly big–enough room for a pleasant crowd, but a very intimate space. Ledges run along the walls under the stained glass windows, and these ledges were lined with greenery and lit candles. Poinsettias and greenery festooned every corner and nook. Lit wreaths were hung on the walls. In the candlelight, the church was the most beautiful and Christmas-y environment I have ever seen. It would be impossible to be without the Christmas spirit in that church last night. I was invited to help with the singing that evening, and there is nothing I enjoy more on a Christmas Eve than singing. Making music is the best part of Christmas. The congregation was in shadowy candlelight as I sang my solo, so I had a hard time making out faces. Somewhere near the back, I had heard the unmistakable voice of an autistic boy, blurting out his happiness in tones that were anything but hushed. But, he quieted. Brian played the introductory notes and I sang the first verse of “All is Well,” a gorgeous Christmas song by Michael W. Smith. It starts out softly and builds through the three verses. Brian joined in harmony on the second verse, and by the third, we were giving it! The last note of the song came off well, and I was thinking to myself, “Good, that went all right…” when suddenly, the autistic boy at the back of the church yelled out, “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” It was epic. “Amen!” I thought. Near the end of the service, the boy came up and someone gave him a tambourine. He stood at the front of the church and banged on that tambourine and spun in slow, happy circles, to the closing songs. Afterwards, Brian gave me one of the beautiful white poinsettias to take home with me, and I think of that joyful Christmas boy every time I look at it.
Late this afternoon, after the dishes were done and the mess was put away, we set off for the woods. A hike was “the carrot”–something I had been looking forward to for two days, the way I was going to wrap up Christmas. The cold air was invigorating after two days in the hot kitchen. We had some light as we went into the woods, but by the time we rounded the trail and came up beside the creek, the sun was down. There was a brief, orange flare of sunset, and then we were walking in darkness. No sound but our feet crunching through the snow. The end of the day and the season fell on me in that quiet place. Peace.
So, another one done. The shopping, the wrapping, the groceries, the baking, the cooking, the mess…there is no exhaustion quite like Christmas exhaustion.
Still, Christmas is a special time. If you can find a moment to pause in the middle of all the craziness, there are many blessings to be found, hiding in all the nooks and quiet places of the soul.
Merry Christmas. Thank God for leftovers.