My thoughts today are expressed in the words of an old Country Gospel song, “Precious memories, how they linger, how they ever flood my soul.”
Precious memories indeed! I grew up in a little fishing community in Newfoundland. I was one of fifteen siblings and lived in a big six bedroom house. Christmas was always a special time in our family, and indeed in our community.
One of my fondest memories was being awakened at about six o’clock on Christmas morning and nestled next to my face would be a home knitted woolen sock filled with goodies.
There would be an apple or an orange, some red grapes, a few candy, a pencil, and what we called at that time a scribbler for doing our school work.
My bedroom had two beds where the four older boys slept and on Christmas morning there was a lot of fun and laughter when we emptied our sock on the bed and then compared the contents of each sock—it was always the same.
While we were anxious to go down stairs, it was a two-story house, and manhandle any and all gifts that may have been waiting for us and the rest of our siblings, there was order in the Rowe household. We were allowed to leave our bedroom only when Mom or Dad called us down to the living room and jostling each other for the best place near the Christmas tree, we quickly made our arrival as dramatically as possible.
What a scene it was. The tree was all bright and shiny with colored lights, bows and ribbons and long strands of silvery icicles. Underneath the tree were gifts wrapped in pretty paper and individually named so that Santa did not make a mistake when passing them to each sibling.
Here is the cruncher. Before any gifts were given out, my Dad always read some Bible verses from St. Luke’s Gospel and took a few minutes to explain the real reason for the season. We would sometimes sing verses from a Christmas Carol and then Dad would pray with us and for us.
Dad would then change hats as it were and become Santa. With a deep voiced “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas,” he would then call out the name of the sibling and pass us our gift. The novelty of not knowing what was wrapped inside the colored paper made for an exciting hour as we opened and compared our gifts.
I cannot ever recall one sibling being disappointed with his/her gift. One of the most precious gifts I ever received was a copy of the King James Bible presented to me on December 25, 1966 and signed by my Dad. The Bible is now well worn and a little ragged but so precious as it stands with hundreds of other books in my library.
As you travel down memory lane this Christmas, I trust that the joy, the fun, the excitement of such memories will enhance the blissfulness of this season as we celebrate the greatest event in human history.
