With Christmas right around the corner, I’ll be sharing some of my childhood traditions with you today.
Some traditions are easy to spot. Others are subtle; you don’t realize they’re traditions until you go without them, and then you miss them.
It’s kind of funny how we get used to having certain matters, especially holidays, a particular way. We think that how we grew up is normal; surely everyone does it this way, right? But then we enter a world of differences, and we realize that our version of ‘normal’ is often starkly contrasted with the ‘normal’ that other people experienced.
Different doesn't mean bad or less. It just means different – something other than what we're used to. Differences can indicate to us what our strongly rooted (and sometimes frivolous) traditions are.
There's nothing wrong with tradition, inherently. A tradition is a practice that is kept through families or generations, or even cultures, and at the start there was a meaning for it. But as time goes on, that tradition may lose its initial meaning and become something to do because, ‘That's just what we do here.’
Therein lies the challenging component of traditions; we have to find tactics to keep the life and meaning in them. Sometimes, all it takes is remembering the original intent behind the custom. Other times, you’ll need to tweak the tradition or even start with something new (ouch).
There are many sweet traditions that I have been a part of during the Christmas season. Making cookies (especially gingerbread men and sugar cookies), going caroling, and traveling to see family (yay to road trips and plane rides!) are a few of them.
Each December 25th, my siblings and I would wake up, bound downstairs, and open our stockings right away. Once everyone was awake, we read the Christmas story from Matthew or Luke before distributing and opening presents. That was always one of my favorite parts of the day: reading the reason why we celebrate Christmas.
Nearly every year, someone in my family would receive a movie (usually there were several movies received). We’d often watch the movie(s) later in the afternoon together. That was (and is) another favorite for me: being together with family. Simply enjoying each other’s presence and company.
That gives you a very small snapshot of the Christmases I have enjoyed. Now, there is another aspect of the season that I haven’t yet mentioned: the Christmas tree.
The tree kick-started my family’s Christmas season each year. The day after Thanksgiving, we would drive over to a tree farm and cut down a fresh, luscious evergreen. (Random fact: Pine is one of my favorite smells.)
We’d go up and down the many rows of green, searching for just the right tree. We considered the height of the tree, the girth of the tree, the color of the tree, and the tree’s fullness. Sometimes, it took a loooooooong time to settle on a tree we all liked. But finally, we’d pick the perfect tree and saw it down.
Carefully toppling it onto its cart, we’d wheel it back to the entrance of the farm and pay for it. The workers would then drill a hole in the bottom of the tree and send it through a tree wrapper, which was always exciting to watch. Then we’d place our tree on the top of our car and tie it down for the drive home.
We always played Christmas music while we positioned the tree in the corner of our living room and hauled all the Christmas decorations out of the basement storage area. Usually, my Dad and I strung the lights around the tree, and then everyone would choose ornaments to hang on its branches.
The grand finale came when we placed an angel at the very top of the tree (if there was room; one year, we got a tree that was a bit too tall, and when we first tried to stand it up, it scratched the ceiling, leaving a brown streak as a memorial for years to come).
The twinkling tree would wink at us any time we entered the living room or even drove by our house, for we could see it through the window.
I don’t know why the Christmas tree always made me feel happy. Perhaps it was the consistency of the tree’s presence, the ever-changing appearance of it each year, or simply its representation that Christmas was here.
But even on the years that I didn’t want to set up the tree (yes, I admit there were times when I thought I had better things to do than decorate for Christmas), I was always pleased when it was done, and it remained a source of comfort for me.
I have thought about whether I will continue this tradition when I have a family of my own. The Christmas tree has both pagan and Christian roots. St. Boniface, a monk and missionary to the Germans in the 8th century, used a fir tree as an example of Christ’s eternal nature (read more about the story here).
I haven’t spent much time looking into where the practice first came from, nor have I heard from God to ‘Yes, have a Christmas tree,’ or ‘No, don’t.’ I’m not worried about it, though; such a decision doesn’t have to be made just yet.
But whatever I do eventually decide, I will choose something that has meaning. Meaning for me. Meaning for my children. Meaning for generations. Because that is the entire point, and the power, of tradition: to carry on a legacy of truth from generation to generation.
In the meantime, I will continue to revel in my Christmases, relishing my time together with my families, and remembering how Jesus came as a vulnerable, humble baby in order to save us all. This Christmas, I will drink of His great love for me.
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