No matter a person’s age, nationality, or religion; the word “Christmas” is familiar. The meaning of the word may differ, however. Sometimes, even in the course of one’s life the meaning of Christmas changes. That is the case for me.
I could swear I heard footsteps downstairs on the hardwood floor. I knew for sure I heard a thump on the roof and bells ringing in the distance. I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t sleep. The anticipation of the next morning weighed heavily on my little mind. There wasn’t a single December 25 where I didn’t beat the sun up.
That was Christmas. It was the night before Christmas dressing up in matching church clothes and going to the midnight service (which actually started at midnight). It was the singing in the kids choir, the driving around to look at Christmas lights, and the reading of Twas’ the Night Before Christmas. It was marking off the days on the calendar, that first snow day (back when those were a thing), and the start of Christmas Break from school. It was the waking up early, wrapping paper covering the living room floor, big dinners at Grandma’s house, and finally finding out who drew my name. It was the placing baby Jesus in his bed in the manger and remembering the true meaning of Christmas. December 26 was just the start to the countdown to the next December 25. Christmas was way more than just a word, it was EVERYTHING to my childhood self.
It happened on the school bus, when Christmas began to take on a new meaning for me. What started as a period of change didn’t take long to shift. Many of the same Christmas traditions remained—my core childhood memories replaying through my teen and early adult years. Christmas Eves were still filled with midnight mass, Christmas lights, and barely any sleep. The excitement of trying to catch a glimpse of Santa had faded, but Christmas morning still began before the sun, filled with family, laughter, and love. Despite my changing perspective, the magic of Christmas was far from gone.
It wasn’t until a decade ago, when I discovered my favorite meaning of Christmas. It is a feeling unmatched in life; experiencing Christmas through the eyes of my children. This year, in our home, each child is at a different level of Christmas “meanings.” Asher, my oldest, may start to see things a little differently. And Adley Joe is just beginning the Christmas magic. The nostalgia that exists in each of my core memories as a child plays out over and over in the core memories I am trying to create for my own children. The day after Thanksgiving, we decorate the Christmas tree. Christmas eve, we go to candle light service, look at Christmas lights, and read Twas’ the Night Before Christmas.
So much of what made Christmas an important aspect of my childhood has found its way into the lives of my children. I find joy in finding the perfect gifts for each of my children. I love reading the Christmas story from the Bible before laying baby Jesus in the manger on Christmas morning. I love the hustle and bustle of Christmas morning and day and the quiet and peace that December 26 brings. It isn’t always the kids waking me up on Christmas morning and rushing to see what is under the tree, oftentimes I am the one rushing from room to room screaming with excitement.
No matter if I was a small kid hearing the sounds of reindeer feet and sleigh bells, or a teenager anticipating what I would unwrap, or just a mom watching Christmas through the eyes of my children, Christmas has meaning.
It may be obvious, like that in the mind of a youthful self, it may have to be searched for, like an egotistical young adult, or it may have to be made, like myself, creating magical memories for my children. The true magic of Christmas never disappears, it just presents itself in different ways. So find your magic this Christmas.