The holidays seem to bring a sense of nostalgia, don’t they? Christmas time can immediately bring us back to our childhood with distinct memories we are fond of replaying in our minds for comfort or for the poignant moments to ponder in our hearts, just like Mary the mother of Jesus did.

As I walked today, I was reflecting on my Christmas Eve memories both as a child and young mother. I was the youngest of four girls and our house was just the perfect size. As we grew older and married, we began to have our own children too. That same house, at Christmas time, became jam-packed with people, food, music, packages and laughter. It was just as packed as my grateful heart is now reflecting about it.

Yes, our Christmas Eve celebrations were a bit loud and even chaotic but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It was lots of people, and loads food and tons of dishes to wash and too many sugar treats. Mix all that with young children, mostly boys, all running around and wrestling and sweating. The windows even steamed over from all the body heat but inevitably, someone would open the front door and allow the late December frigid air to cool down this precious packed house.

Golly, I remember those Christmas Eve nights so well. After our Christmas meal, desiring to all be together, we’d pile into as few cars as possible and head up the street, just a few short blocks to the church. Our entire crew would descend upon the church’s sanctuary for the yearly open-communion service. We’d park our cars and make a mad dash for the door. Gladly escaping the winter’s cold and trading it for the warmth within those hallowed walls.

It took us a few moments, but we’d shed our coats and help the young ones near us, it was all part of the process. We spoke in hushed tones as we made sure we were all accounted for. “Okay, kids come with me. Let’s stay together. Sure, I’ll hold your hand.” Then we processed into the sanctuary like a long Heggen family parade.

I remember how magical it was to open the center isle doors and all walk in without any talking. The place was aglow! It was fully illuminated with only white candles which lined the isles and multiple candelabras strategically placed throughout the room. It was breath taking! Such beauty to behold. The candle’s flames each flickered slightly, dancing to the simple reflective music playing in the background.

Each person or family group could come and go as they pleased, not led or prompted by anyone. Everyone was welcome to sit in a pew for as long or briefly as they desired. A long wooden altar lined the entire front section of the church. When we were ready to to receive it, we walked to that altar, knelt down and were served communion without using words. It was quiet and reflective. It was holy.

This is the first time I’ve thought about those still moments in a long time. It was unique unlike any other time in the calendar year. It was special to me then and is a fond memory now which I’ve pondered because it represented such blessing and family unity. It was a time of togetherness, it was sacred and I’m tearing up even while I type. I believe my tears are like liquid gratitude flowing freely down my thankful face to my fully jammed packed heart.

After the time of candle lit communion. We always had the same routine. It became a tradition.

No matter what, we’d pile in the cars again and tour around the neighborhoods to look at the houses and all the Christmas lights. As the years marched by and many of us moved away, we’d wonder if a particular property was still owned by the same family. “Mom and Dad, do the “SMITHS” (NOT the real name) still live on the corner over by the school?” we asked.

“Hey, do you guys want to go swing by there on our way back to Mom and Dad’s?” It was always unanimous. “Let’s drive by their property just to see if they still have all of the same lawn decorations along with the hundreds and hundreds of stringed lights!” Each time I’d think, this isn’t going to be a big deal. Yet when we’d wind our way around the corner, catch a glimpse of that house we’d all begin to belly-laugh, usually my oldest sister would start it while someone else would exclaim, “YEP! It’s still the same things only they’ve even added to their displays!” Another would ask, “Did they always have the Choo-Choo train?” We thrived on the evening’s routine. It was a tradition. It was great fun.

When it came to gifts and opening packages, we’d start from youngest to oldest as we went around the room. I was the youngest of the four girls and therefore so were my children when they came on the scene, they liked that too. It was such a treasured time for me. Our Christmas Eve celebration seemed to go late into the evening each year as we all lingered and enjoyed one another’s company. I never wanted it to end. I loved it!

I realized this year, that TOGETHER is my primary love language. I really don’t care what it is we are doing… we could be eating, singing, worshiping, doing the dishes, reading the Christmas story from Luke chapter two, driving around the town gazing at lights or laughing, I just simply like that we were doing it together.

Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for the brethren to dwell together in unity. – Psalm 133:1

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