A Little Christmas Magic

Luky;
REMEMBERING the Christmasses of my youth always gives me sore feet. No doubt a psychiatrist would have a field day with that information. The explanation is simply that my mother bought us new clothes and shoes every Christmas, and my feet would have to be squeezed into the narrow new shoes until toes and shoes came to a compromise, the latter stretching or the former shrinking round about Epiphany.

Other memories include walking down Amsterdam streets, holding my big sister's hand and peering shamelessly into house windows to admire the Christmas decorations.

Two sorts
"Catholics have cribs, Protestants have Christmas trees", my sister replied when I asked why we only had a nativity scene at home. In those pre-ecumenical times, people still remembered that Martin Luther spread the German custom of Christmas trees, and that St. Francis started the practice of having a crib scene. At Christmas, I always wanted to be a Protestant.

Another memory that comes to my mind is of our family - father, mother and four children - walking to Mass through the snow. It was a great treat to see my hardworking parents dressed in their best for the whole of Christmas day. How delicious the food tasted, and what a shame one could only finish part of it! It was good to sit near the fire, listening to my father telling us stories from a thick book he was holding.
We would light candles by the crib, in their candlesticks of halved and hollowed-out potatoes covered in red crinkle paper. Then we'd sing carols.

Glorious
To this day I remember my father every year during Mass at Christmas when the choir sings Gloria in excelsis Deo, because his voice used to wobble so on the high note - and yet there was something glorious about the way he used to sing it. My father believed in the Catholic Church and its every precept. He didn't belong to a church society and could never afford to put much money in the plate, yet I believe that it is quiet, steadfast faith such as his which has kept the Church going for more than two thousand years. Because it is from such faith that a harvest is reaped every year, a harvest of grace which is poured over the entire community.

I always tried to create a little Christmas magic for my young family in the home. It became easier when we had so many small children. It was difficult during our early years of marriage, when we didn't know many people. I used to keep my Christmas cards from one year to the next, and put them beside the new year's meagre crop to make us feel a little more popular than we really were.

As time wore on, I used to take the children to Carols by Candlelight tableau practice, clean and decorate the house - not omitting to put in Luther's Christmas tree and St. Francis' crib - take the family to Mass, and tried to spoil them on the big day.

I hoped they too would learn to know the same Christmas joy I once knew. When my youngest daughter was nearing her first Christmas, I looked forward to showing her the tree and the decorations. No doubt she tried to make a grab for the little statue of the Christ Child in the crib, and no doubt I told her of the story of the Baby Jesus.

Catherine Nicolette
Christmas was magic in our house. Presents being wrapped and stern admonitions from Dad and Mom not to find their hiding place and pinch them to feel what they were. The Nativity scene being put up in the place of honour in our house. Christmas cake being stirred by Mom; each of us taking a turn to stir. Everyone had to have a hand in making the lovely raisin and sultana rich cake which was proudly adorned with marzipan and white royal icing.

We often used to light a candle in the window and leave the curtains open the night before Christmas so the Christ Child would see our welcoming light, and Mary and Joseph would rejoice to know that there was a home where they were oh so welcome, and could come in to rest their weary feet and where the Christ Child could sleep safe and sound. I used to sit beside the candle and look out, imagining I could see the two weary travellers carrying the little Baby to our front door on a donkey, and eventually my eyes would dance from staring through the candle flame and its reflection into the dark Welkom night.

We never cut a tree to decorate our house at Christmas. When I asked Dad why not, he said he did not believe in murdering trees. We needed to protect the planet. So we had a little Christmas tree he had bought from the nursery. Every year Dad took the tree which was safely ensconced in a pot covered by the front yard soil out of its resting place, and transferred the pot to the lounge.

After Christmas was over, in a ceremony we would all help Dad take the little tree out to the front and bury the pot back in its place at the left mid side of the front yard, where for the year it happily flourished as one of the yard trees until the magic of next Christmas rolled around again. As Dad finished returning the tree to the soil, he would affectionately pat the pale green pine needles of our little Christmas fir. I think it was from Dad's example that I learned from an early age to be eco-friendly.

On one Christmas Dad gathered us together, sat us down and told us of the Christ Child who arrived poor in a humble stable, and his parents did not have much. He told us there are many, many children in the world who never ever receive a present. He asked us never to forget at Christmas to always give something for all the little children who were not as fortunate as us with parents, a home, all that we needed and gifts as well. We promised him we would.

And we do, Dad, we do. I have never ever forgotten that Christmas, and the quiet lesson Dad taught us. It was a different Christmas magic we had that year - Dad taught us that it is important to give, as well as to receive...

*Luky; Photograph of Mama, Papa and our family. I am sitting in front of Papa.