Christmastime is here

I was just at Christmas Eve services at my church.  I go to a fairly large church and we have 7 services!  There are 3 family related services, 3 candlelighting services and a communion service, which is the one I attend.  It’s become a tradition for me every year to go.  It’s held in the larger of the two chapels at the church and it’s both relaxed and a little austere.  And it’s the one service on Christmas Eve that has communion.  It’s a noon service, so timing wise it works well.  I think I also like the fact that it's simple and not flashy.

While I was there today, one of the hymns we sang was “The First Noel” and it immediately took me back to my childhood and a memory so clear it actually brought tears to my eyes.

My childhood church was Covenant Presbyterian Church in Charlotte, NC.  Rather unassuming on the outside, the sanctuary to me was magical and awesome and awe-inspiring.  To me it always seemed huge and magnificent and I felt wrapped up in a happy blanket.  We were told that the church was fashioned after an upside down ark, so it had a pointed ceiling that was all dark wood and beams.  The pews were also dark wood with deep purple velvet cushions.  The stained glass windows were “real” stained glass, all jewel tones, and told Bible stories.  While it seemed cavernous and huge, it also seemed enveloping and warm.  There was a great pipe organ, played by a magnificent organist.  My favorite time of year was at Christmas, because we had this wonderful Christmas service and all the choirs sang.  When I was very small, we weren’t allowed to participate in the processional or carry real candles, so it was a huge treat to be old enough to walk down the central aisle with the lights dimmed and carrying real candles.  I remember wearing a choir robe that was black on the bottom and white on top with huge billowy sleeves.  We had to learn the first two verses of “The First Noel” because, with candles in our hands, we couldn’t carry a hymnal.  I was so proud to be floating down the aisle singing one of my favorite Christmas hymns!

I went to one candlelighting service at my current church, but the times always conflict with dinners and no one really seems to want to go with me, so I've only been the one time.  I remember the time I went it brought back some of those same memories.  I remembered having to breathe deeply to keep the tears from flowing.

But Christmas doesn’t mean the same thing anymore to me.  The first Christmas I was married turned out to be my father’s last Christmas.  I didn’t know that at the time, but he’d had cancer and it had come back and maybe I should have been more in tune with that.  But my new in-laws were in town from Jacksonville and I got talked into spending most of the holidays with them.  We ended up spending about an hour and a half with my family on Christmas Day.  There was no Christmas Eve dinner with them and we came well after the gift opening and breakfast traditions on Christmas morning.  My father died a little more than a month later and Christmas was never the same again.  I promised myself I wouldn’t miss those traditions anymore, and I didn’t, but the magic was gone.

And then 9 years ago, we buried my mother on Christmas Eve.  It seemed cruel that there was so much happiness and festivity going on around us during those few days when I felt none of it.  I know what Mother would say to me now – “just tell yourself you’re not going to let it get to you”.  But it does.

I don’t know that I could say today what would bring me joy at Christmas.  I spent Christmas one year in France and that was certainly magical, but I still went to bed Christmas Eve and cried for what was missing.  As I was driving home from church today, I thought how nice it would be to be surrounded by a family with a fire going and laughter all around.  Or rushing around with someone I loved grabbing last minute gifts and then having lunch and a few drinks at a local pub.  But I’m not really sure if having those things would make it feel ok.

I am happy to be able to spend time with my brothers and their families.  If someone is missing, as George will be this year because he’s sick, it feels incomplete.  But it feels incomplete anyway because the two people that made Christmas joyful and magical aren’t here.  There will always be something missing for me and always be a hole I can’t fill.

But, as I do every year, I try.  I do the modern equivalent of “just tell yourself it’ll be ok” – “fake it till you make it”.  And I will be happy to spend time with the people that I love most in the world, even though there’s still an ache in my heart.