Calm descended on the house. Each child retired to his or her corner armed with cozy blankets and books. The cats disappeared to nap the afternoon away. The ticking of the grandfather clock and the steady hum of the furnace filled the living room.
I sunk into my Nana’s armchair ready to read. The Christmas decor that’s been up too long and the pile of school books on the hearth barely registered. They can wait. Maybe I will write. It had been a week, a long seven days full of sick children, mounds of laundry, and little sleep. I stumbled through those days – passing out drinks and saltines, sanitizing the bathroom, entertaining the healthy child. In the midst of my weariness, I felt gratitude. We stayed healthy during Christmas and the wedding.
Then the fog lifted. I finally slept, no child needing me during the night. We seemed to be mending. I breathed a prayer, “Thank you, Lord.” I can finally think.
***
When I was 11, my family moved to Hungary for seven months while my parents completed a special work assignment. The trip is forever tied with Christmas in my mind.
That year we celebrated Christmas at Camp Davy – my grandparents’ home on a small sandpit in Nebraska. Christmas at Grandma’s, a grand celebration, included several key components: cousins, cookies, and competitions. When the weather was cold, it also involved ice skating and fishing.
My wishlist that year included Kirsten, an American Girl Doll. I asked for her every year. By age 11, I knew she was well over Christmas gift budgets. I gave up hope, but wished just the same. And then, she appeared under Grandma’s tree – a joint gift. I was ecstatic.
I played with that doll daily for the next two and a half weeks. Then, with a sigh, I placed her back in her box, tucked her into my closet, and slid the door closed. There she waited for my return. We flew across the ocean on January 11th.
Shortly after our arrival, American missionary friends invited us to their apartment. Their Christmas tree stood prominently in the living room. Astonished, I realized it was still Christmas time in Hungary.
Hungarians traditionally decorate the tree on Christmas Eve, keeping it up through the month of January. Our friends decided to embrace the customs of both their home country and their current home. They decorated after Thanksgiving and left it up during January.
Christmas could last beyond December 25th. That idea stuck in the back of my mind.
***
Several years ago, I incorporated the Twelve Days of Christmas into our family celebration. I love celebrations and Christmas ranks among my favorites. Why do we have a big build up to Christmas Day and then move on the next day? The decor comes down. The radio returns to regular programming. The stores set out the Valentine’s Day decor, pushing the Christmas items to a corner marked with 80% off signs.
The Twelve Days allow us to continue the celebration without the drop off. It also enables us to do Christmas activities at a leisurely pace. When math lessons and gift-buying crowd out holiday baking, I let the Christmas cookies go. We’ll bake them on December 26th. When band concerts and Christmas parties fill our December evenings, we build our gingerbread house during the Twelve Days. The kids don’t mind, and because we are on a school break, I have more capacity to do these activities. Less stress. More fun.
We end the Twelve Days by placing the wisemen in our nativity scene. The wisemen start the Christmas season displayed away from the creche. Usually they travel around the house before arriving at the nativity on Epiphany. This year we added cats to the equation. I decided the probability of breakage was high if the figurines sojourned on the low bookcase or the piano. Instead, they journeyed from one end of our mantel to the other arriving at the creche three days late. Life happens.
***
This year’s celebration was full.
It began with a road trip to my brother and sister-in-law’s home in Colorado. We assured our children that the drive was shorter than from Kansas City. That was before we drove into snow after crossing the Colorado-Nebraska border.
“When are we going to be there?”
“We are only 45 miles from Denver. Why is this taking so long?”
What could we say? We’ll get there when we get there, hopefully all in one piece. Around that 45 miles-to-go mark, it dawned on them that we were not traveling at normal interstate speeds nor would Daddy go any faster while the snow flew and the questions ceased. An hour and a half later, we stumbled into my brother’s house, tired, sore, and hungry. A trip that should have taken eight and a half hours with stops took over 10.
After a late-night dinner of spaghetti and a good sleep, the fun began. We went sledding, swimming, and hiking. My sister-in-law taught us how to make her family’s Christmas staple, lefse, a Norwegian flatbread made with flour, potatoes, and cream. We rolled them up with a liberal helping of butter and brown sugar smothered inside. On Christmas morning, every stocking held a Nerf gun. Naturally, an epic battle broke out in the basement that afternoon. Laughter and shrieks filled the air.
Two days after Christmas, we drove home to Nebraska and continued celebrating. We exchanged gifts on New Year’s Eve. Each child carefully wrapped up packages and placed them under the tree. Their eyes shone as they proudly handed them out to their siblings and Kirk and I. Some years they make their gifts. Other years they use their money to buy something from the store. Their generosity may be my favorite part of the day.
Our gingerbread house construction took place on New Year’s Day.
We ended our Twelve Days celebrating the wedding of our oldest nephew, Joel.
Sixteen years ago, he and his brother Ben, served as our ring bearers. Now the boys were his. Our Middle had one burning question, “Will Granny put frogs on our pillows?”
During our wedding rehearsal, Kirk’s mom tied little frogs onto the ring bearer pillows much to the delight of Joel and Ben. Who needs rings when you can have frogs? They walked down the aisle holding the pillows upside down, frogs concealed. As they reached the front they flipped them over revealing the joke to Kirk. When you are six and four, fun is needed to help you practice for the big day.
Our boys knew the story. Anticipation ran high. Granny did not disappoint.
***
Celebrations concluded. Monday dawned. Time to begin the new year. The afternoon before I planned and prepared, eager to return to regular rhythms.
I considered writing out Psalm 118:24 as a prayer for the week and posting it on the bathroom mirror. “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” I need visible reminders. I didn’t manage to write it out, but it stayed in the back of my mind.
We made it through one day of school lessons, and then, gastroenteritis roared into our home with a vengeance. I was left with shredded plans and an energetic four-year old who avoided the plague.
As I moved through the week, doing whatever next thing needed to be done, the prayer returned to my mind. The Lord made these days of sickness and extra cleaning. I can rejoice in this opportunity to serve my family, tend to needs, and love my people well. My plans can wait for another day.
***
How has your start to the new year been? Have things gone as expected or have plans changed?
