Merry Christmas from Us

Lily's First Christmas.

I'm sure this will be the last blog for the year as we head to Oklahoma this weekend for our Christmas Vacation. Each year we gather with parents, siblings, grandparents and friends, and each year the dynamics always seem to change. Some years we add new members via births and marriages; and some years the table is a little emptier with the loss of a dearly loved family member. This year as we gather around the tree to open presents and the table to eat dinner, there will be a couple of new baby girls that will experience the insanity that is our family Christmas.

I just wish that Lily could have met my Grandmother and my Aunt Mary.

It wasn't too long after my Mamaw and Papaw passed away in the early 1980's that my little sister was born. I remember hearing my dad tell us how much he wished that his mom and dad could have met, held, known, and rocked Rebecca. I feel the same way about Lily. There was something Rockwellian about Christmas, as we knew in one corner of our den would sit one of the Ledbetter matriarchs casually rocking with a gentle (almost mischievous) smile taking in the wonder of family. Although my Aunt Mary and my Grandmother were very different they were both perfect in their own right. Gosh, I miss them.

I bet you have a similar story. This summer Shauna lost her Grandma Staude and I know her story would sound almost identical.

But, then again there is this little thing called Christmas that changes everything. I mean if we can get a perspective that is a little larger than the hear and now, we will eventually run smack dab into HOPE. On our family Christmas card we quoted the verse out of Matthew that says, "Behold the virgin will give birth to a Son, and they will call his name Immanuel, which translates 'God with us.'" So, here it is: Jesus was born that we might be born again; He lived that we might find purpose; He died that we might be free; and, he rose again that we might have HOPE.

There is no question that one day there will be a celebration of the birth of Christ where we will understand the fullness of this December holiday. Where presents will give way to presence. I know it's speculative, but, perhaps the conversation may go something like this:
"Lily, that lady in the corner who looks as beautiful as heaven itself... that's your great grandmother Blanche. And, the other lady who personifies strength and character... that's your great great aunt Mary. And the other one. The one with that beautiful smile who is obviously the life of the party... that's your great grandma Staude." There will be hugs and there will be smiles there may even be soap-on-a-rope (a gift my Aunt Mary gave me when I was about 10 years old).

If there was no other reason than HOPE, it is enough to embrace the true meaning of this great HOLYday.

I'm Dreaming of a Lily-White Christmas

A stroll down memory lane anyone? anyone? Beuller? Christmas can be a bit perplexing for me. In one sense it is like a drug addiction that can never quite be tamed. It's like that first hit that brings you back over and over again, hoping to hit that initial high... but, it never quite satisfies. For me, the year was 1979. We had tickets to the Nutcracker at the Tulsa Performing Arts Center. Before the show I remember eating dinner with my aunt, uncle and two cousins at The Magic Crepe. I'm not sure I even knew what a crepe was, but when they told me it was a thin pancake with powdered sugar on it... I was in. After dinner and on our way to the play we strolled through the old Williams Center when they had an ice rink downstairs. Carolers dressed in Dickens costumes filled the hall with all of the classic Christmas songs; and, if my memory serves me well, I think there was snow outside. The pipe shop filled the first floor with an unmatched aroma that sang BABY IT'S COLD OUTSIDE. It was the stuff holiday dreams are made of. AND, if I recall correctly I got a pony that Christmas and my sister got her two front teeth.

After that the bar had been raised and it's been difficult to live up to such dreams.

This weekend our family loaded up and drove to Memphis (via Little Rock to see our new niece). My younger sister treated us to the Broadway production of White Christmas. Part of the Stockstill tradition has been to watch Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye and Rosemary Clooney in White Christmas as we decorate our Christmas Tree. There is something about hearing Bing Crosby croon that old familiar song that puts me in the Christmas spirit like nothing else. Needless to say, in the final act when the belted out THE song, they had somehow rigged the auditorium to snow inside. I looked over at my two boys who were completely mesmerized by the moment and realized there is something magical about Christmas that can only be seen through the eyes of a child. So, what do you say we approach the season with a 'kid-like' attitude. Let's lose the pessimism, skepticism, political division and political correctness. Let's be amazed at the fact that it really can snow inside buildings. Let's wish for the ponies and the teeth.

All the Leaves are Brown (and Red, Yellow and Orange)

It is still strange to think of December as autumn (at least half of it anyway). We've been in Mississippi for 11 out of the last 13 years and at least part of "getting into the Christmas spirit" has to do with a certain chill in the air. You know, it's just a little odd singing: Winter Wonderland; Let it Snow; White Christmas; I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, in shorts and a t-shirt. Except for the occasional cold front that comes sweeping through for 24 - 48 hours, the weather is generally mid 70's with mostly sunny skies. Sure, that is perfect weather for 11 months out of the year, but not so much in December. I want snow... and, lots of it. I remember taking a pair of old water skis as a kid, removing the back rudder, duct taping our shoes to the skis and heading down the highway overpass embankments. I remember trash can lids doubling as supersonic sleighs. I remember 8' tall snowmen, formidable snow forts, bloody snowball fights, and missing school. Now, I realize the Norman Rockwell postcards that we have so forged in our memories are not exactly the way things really were, but these 80 degree Christmases are a little rough.