By DEREK BECHER
Ever since the first time I heard my father’s cherished Christmas carols echoing softly throughout the cozy, softly glowing rooms of our small country home, when I was just a young child, something stirred inside, shivering my soul, that seemed to mean peace, and joy. I couldn’t quite explain it, but it didn’t matter, for it seemed so right and wonderful.
And now, listening to those same lovely harmonies in the comfort of my own home, I’m taken back to a fond childhood Christmas memory.
I’m there, sitting in wonder, listening to those familiar sounds of Christmas, watching the smile, still on his face, as his happy but watery eyes look beyond the sparkling tinsel out into the falling snow, searching for a time he affectionately remembers and treasures.
Dear mother holds his hand, remembering with him, as we all sit silently with no need to speak, for the tranquility we feel with the soothing rhythm of those wondrous harmonies, reaching to the angelic glow atop the carefully trimmed tree, could not be shaken.
Each blink of his moist eyes brings a new memory of old as he’s told so often, revisiting fond moments with his family on the farm in the dark of winter. . . .
I see they’re riding a sleigh, chiming bells into the woods with their terrier in tow, beyond the recently shoveled pond and fresh skate tracks, to search for that perfect Tannenbaum in the depth of the forest. All the while they’re laughing and singing favorite childhood carols, leaving trails of breath fading behind.
Upon return, the enticing aromas of fresh cooked goose and apple pie and gingerbread cookies and home-baked bread rise and float to every corner of the radiant dining area where they all soon gather in the merriment and the joy of each other’s presence. And soon after they circle the gaily trimmed tree that brings light to the Bethlehem scene below, and they sing songs of joy as we do today.
Into the evening they ride the sleighs through the wintry white paths that wind through the valley — beneath the sparkling crystals that float from the heavens — toward the small steepled church amidst the towering pines. And there, once more, with the entire congregation, however small, they marvel at the glory of the story of Christ’s birth.
And they sing hymns of praise and thanksgiving, welcoming the wonder of that silent, holy night, where, away in a manger, the miracle of Jesus’ birth in the lowly grotto, beneath the holy star in the city of David, brought hope for salvation to the world. And throughout the ceremony, the valley’s life peeks through the frost-tinted windows and joins in the wonder of togetherness at Christmas below the twinkling sky.
With his eyes still searching, they’re home once more, gathered as one. Sitting quietly together for a long moment, they drink in the peace and the wonder of Christmas, thankful for the love, the life, and the family that they share, before retiring to the warmth of their beds, to dream. . . .
As he turns from the window to smile at mother and their children, I know I’ve been blessed with a wondrous gift.
And now it is my family sitting in anticipation around our lovely decorated tree and home. Outside the snow continues to gently cover the darkened streets, and nothing else moves. Inside, the spirit of Christmas dances with our souls as we reminisce about favorite family Christmas memories, while forming new ones. It moves gracefully to those same treasured Christmas hymns as it did years before, skipping over the lips of my lovely wife and darling children.
Shortly, I will stand with the choir in the church in our town amidst family and friends — everyone — and sing joyously the hymns of Christmas. I hope one day that my eyes will show the memories of Christmas as my father’s once did — of joy and simplicity, and the wonder of the beauty of the coming presence of the Lord as heard in what are now my favorite Yuletide carols.
For then I know that my son will have seen the peace and the joy, the true meaning of Christmas, through the eyes of memories past.
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