Making Christmas - No Place Like Home

 

Late Sunday afternoon Tim and I walked down Oak Bay Avenue, a part of town that has old-world charm and lots of Christmas lights. This is a wordy post, so maybe get a cup of tea and a cookie to nibble on as you read.

As a child, Christmas always involved lots and lots of family - aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins galore. It was merry bedlam. There was a huge dinner, carol singing, presents, and bags of nuts and candies containing a single mandarin orange from Japan handed out by my grandparents (on both sides). 

When I was 13 we moved further away and trips to visit extended family were much fewer and far between. However, one or two of my mother's sisters and their families also lived in the northern interior of BC and we celebrated Christmas with them. After dinner, the adults visited and we cousins played. For a number of years we organized (I was probably very bossy) a little nativity play and performed it for our parents. Christmas was more than a one-day affair. We alternated Christmas Eve at one home and Christmas Day at another. Delicious food, lots of laughter, and a lovely sense of satisfaction to end the day. 

With minor adjustments, these traditions carried on after I married. Tim and I alternated Christmas Day and Christmas Eve with his family and mine. 

In 1981 we moved to a small jungle town in Ecuador. The climate and culture were all very strange to us, and to me particularly. Nothing felt familiar. It was Christmas pared down to bare bones. On Christmas Eve Tim and I sat in front of our ugly little tree and we both cried. We cuddled our 8-week old daughter and wept with loneliness. And I vowed then that the next year would be different. 

I learned that I couldn't rely on the culture around me to evoke the meaning I wanted from Christmas. As a child and young bride, I relied on my parents and extended family to prepare and lead our Christmas celebrations, and they in turn were guided by society and by our faith traditions. 

The next year was different. I took the time to prepare my heart and my home. Our home was the centre of our celebration of Christ's birth. Advent calendars, reading the Christmas story from the Bible or from children's story books, lots of music, baking, and a big dinner to which we always invited lots of people became our family traditions. 

And Christmas was good. It was beautiful and fun. But always, there was, in my heart, a turning towards home, towards my parents and siblings gathered so far away. As I dressed for the day, thoughts of home filled my mind and a few tears fell. I learned to acknowledge the grief even as it eased over the years. And then, hair combed, make-up applied, I tucked away the sadness, and went out to celebrate Christmas with my beautiful children and husband and had a perfectly wonderful day. 

This year is going to be unlike any other Christmas. Our Provincial Health Officer has said that we are restricted to our own households and we are not to gather in an effort to flatten the curve of coronavirus. It is hard to imagine. The news doesn't surprise me, for cases have been much higher recently. Once again, I will acknowledge the sadness and grieve a little over not being able to be with our parents, children and grandchildren. Tim and I are talking about how we will make the day special for just the two of us. It will be a good day. There will likely be gift deliveries and Zoom calls. And through it all, we will remember the reason for our celebration - the birth of the Christ Child. 

We'll be at home a lot. On Saturday we decorated with lots of twinkle lights on the mantels and piano, and around the kitchen windows. The tree lights reflect in the window and across the room onto the glass of a large picture. Home is a good place to be. 

Linking to Sandi's No Place Like Home.