Do you hum Christmas carols under your breath from early November to New Years?  Is your tree up promptly the day after Thanksgiving?  Do you shop year round and stash presents in the closet?  Then you may be a Christmas angel.

     Then there are the Grinches. My husband is a prime and unabashed example. And he's a minister!  Every year, he has to dredge up spiritual enthusiasm in the face encroaching, vulgur commercialism.  He hates the overspending, overeating, the promises unfulfilled.  He would like to ignore the holiday and just preach on the absorbing current Bible book he's been studying.  Well, of course he's happy Jesus came to earth! But even the sight of a Christmas tree before December makes him nauseous, like eating 2 dozen iced sugar cookies with Coke instead of milk..

     I myself am neither a Grinch nor an angel.  I would probably not be the obedient Mary in the Bible.  Perhaps I'm more of a George Bailey from "It's a Wonderful Life." Like most people, he rejoiced and despaired, lost faith and found it again.  

     I have searched my memories for the holidays that quickened my spirit.  We lived in Penn Hills, near Pittsburgh, PA, for my personal wondrous years. Snow frequently blanketed our landscape in December.  One year, my Grandma Critchfield spent the week with us.  A heavy snow fell on Christmas eve, taking out the power lines.  We sat in our living room with the darkened Christmas tree.  No fake tree for us!  That real pine smell permeated the house. My brothers and I piled on the couch while Grandma read to us, using her handy flashlight, all about the journey the Bethlehem, the angels, the shepherds, and the obedient couple.

     The darkness obscured the impotent TV and radio muted even the sight of presents and and tinsel.  The journey came to life.  We could see the rough clothes of Mary and Joseph, smell their desperation to find a refuge.  We shared the wonder of shepherds, and the glory of the angelic army rocking the earth with song.

     That Bible reading began to change things for me.  A seed of faith burrowed into my soul that would sprout and flower years later when I groped and cried out for a personal walk with God.  The lights came on before bedtime, but the magic wasn't over.  That story would be my point of reference for years to come, and the source of my holiday cheer, one of my shelters in time of doubt.

     Besides faith, my family provided many of trappings of Christmas joy pertaining to the physical senses.  The aroma of nut rolls baking, the jingle of the sleigh bells hung on the door, the blare of the Ray Conniff singers belting out, "Here we come a caroling..." The taste of the crab dip that Dad insisted we have for Christmas Eve. The comforting feel of plush new flannel pajamas Mom made, because "the ones they sell in the store are too thin."
     In The Screwtape Letters, the senior devil talks about the comfort and attachment humans have for yearly rituals.  It's true .  My family always decorated with blue lights.  We always had a "twelve-day tree" for counting down the Advent. Mom baked chocolate mountain cookies and sugar cookies and nut rolls.  Our tree was white pine, and we gilded it with whipped Ivory soap flakes that made a lasting "snow," very authentic-looking.

     I don't know what my current family will say about our Christmases as they are nearly grown.  I don't think Sam and I have kept the same rituals.  I'll have to listen closely as they tell the tales to the new boyfriends/girlfriends/spouses coming into our circle. As an adult, I feel so frantic and rushed, then relieved when it falls together.  I hope this year to stop and listen for angels singing.
(to be cont'd)