Christmas thoughts

I was cleaning up the blog and found an old post that somehow I never published. This is from Christmas 2008 when I was in Afghanistan.


What makes Christmas Christmas?

What makes Christmas Christmas? Is it the holiday? Is it the break from work, the decorations, the music, or the gifts? Is it all the traditions of trees, turkey, caroling or Santa? Is it just being home again? Or is it bringing a bit of home to wherever you are?
I’m sitting in Afghanistan and it’s December 21st. I went to church this morning and only then realized that Christmas is just a few days away. I had actually forgotten that Christmas day was so close. No signs, no shopping – there are no festive clothes or parties going on here. No traditions, no family, no caroling and I’m quite certain that Santa will not be stopping by in this neck of the woods. It seems the one thing we do have is a calendar that says it’s Christmas. So, can it REALLY be Christmas here?



There’s one Christmas from my youth that really stands out. It was 1977. I was ten. Mom was sick with cancer – but that was not heavy on my mind at the time because it was Christmas! I’m sure you recall how it was as a child. No school, anxious to open presents, wanting to play with cousins and friends or just being excited about grandparents coming – we all recall being caught up in the Christmas season. That was me in 1977.



It was Christmas Eve and our family was doing what we did every year. First we opened up the one gift under the tree that Mom picked out for us. This, of course, was the same gift every year – new, homemade pajamas. I put mine on. Then we acted out the Christmas story. Alan was always baby Jesus. The little guy always got that job. Mike and Wendy were Mary and Joseph. I don’t recall if I was a shepherd or a wiseman but I remember putting a bath towels on my heads to somehow look more appropriate. Undoubtedly the thick plaid pajamas were part of the costume too.



And then it happened – a loud banging on our front door. I was right next to the door and with all the energy of a 10 year-old I jerked it open as fast as I could. I will never forget what I found. It was a money tree.
There on our deck was a tree made of all kinds of bills. Wow! How cool is that?!? By the time I got over the fact that the most money I had ever seen in my life was right in front of me, the persons who left it were long gone. We brought the money tree inside and oooh’ed and aaah’ed over it. It was a big Styrofoam cone that had so many bills pinned to it that all you could see was the money. It was amazing.

I have no idea how much money was on the money tree. I don’t know who left it. And honestly, for years I think I forgot all about the money tree just as I’ve long ago forgotten any gifts I received that year -- except the pajamas.
What I have begun to understand now as I sit far from home is a touch of what it must have been like to be my parents that Christmas in 1977. Mom was dying; money was scarce -- And yet it was Christmas. I don’t recall a lack of special treats or presents. I do remember that Christmas being special just like family Christmas’s always were. Now that I’m married and sit here separated for one year now from Leigh Anne (my wife) I think I can begin to imagine an inkling of what it might be like to know you will soon be separated by death from your one and only love. Now that I have children I know how it feels to want them to have a wonderful Christmas and to learn all of what Christmas really means. I don’t think I can ever know what it was like for my Mother to be experiencing her last Christmas with her children knowing she would soon die.
So, what makes Christmas Christmas?
As I sit and think of that Christmas in 1977 I literally have tears in my eyes each time I think of who it must have been that left the money tree on our porch. I don’t know who it was. I expect there were a number of people who put money on that money tree. I expect these were the same people who had done so many great acts of service for our family long before and long after our mother died. I am willing to bet that now, 31 years later, none of them remember the money tree at all. But there’s a 10 year old boy who was there that day who remembers the money tree. He thinks about it every Christmas. He remembers it when the days are long and the weather is hot too. He remembers that the most important thing about Christmas is to give of ourselves to others. He remembers that Christmas is Christmas when we do what Christ would do – no matter when or where we are.