Small joys
Leaning into the beauty of Christmas memories and traditions
“It’s Christmas time again, Hip Hip Hooray!”
As soon as I hear the songs from Randall Goodgame’s “A Slugs and Bugs Christmas” album (2011) I feel like the season has truly begun. When I was a kid it was our Filipino Christmas music, and that still ranks high (this song!), along with old Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant albums. Once the music starts (after Thanksgiving), I’m ready to put up decorations, contemplate Christ’s birth, and remember that I really should buy a few Christmas gifts.
Something I’ve noticed this year more than I have before is how many little things bring joy to this season of Advent. When I got out the decorations last week, there was pleasure in putting out our nativity sets that reflect different parts of the world—that was an expected joy. But I also felt a sweet uplift of the heart when I pulled out a collection of felt napkin holders that my longtime friend Heidi gave to Kraig and me our first Christmas. They are simple, homemade pieces, red poinsettias with green leaves. I’ve actually rarely used them for their original purpose, but I love to tuck them into various spots around the house—on a lamp, in among the nativities. The bright red and green shines out from the darkest corners, speaking of color and light.
The joys keep coming. A few weeks ago Clare sent me an ad about a local Handel’s Messiah community sing. I briefly thought about going, but wasn’t sure if there’d be time. “Wouldn’t it be nice, though?” I thought. I love Handel’s Messiah and I haven’t had a chance to sing it in years. Then a couple weeks ago my friend Katie from church caught me. “You like to sing, right?” she asked. And she told me that the Messiah sing had a choir that practiced an hour or so before the program; anyone could join.
I decided to go for it, and when I told my crew about it, both Clare and Evie decided they’d like to join, too. (Kraig and Jon, sadly, had other commitments—it’s something Kraig would have loved.) The kids have never seen the music score, but they’ve heard Messiah every year when I pull it out and Christmas and Easter. Anyway, we went, and we sang our hearts out with a loft-full of other Messiah-lovers, and then with a church-full of listeners. The program was in an old Methodist church in town, and the sanctuary has lovely acoustics. The soloists, who obviously practiced more than the rest of us, were incredible. And the joy of all those harmonies coming together and lifting up those soaring, God-full words—well—words don’t describe it. My daughters’ joy in the experience was the star on top of the tree.
Speaking of which, that’s another joy. The first Christmas Kraig and I were married we pooled our childhood ornaments and decorated our tree. The one thing we didn’t have was a good tree topper, and we couldn’t find one we liked. A few years later I started taking watercolor lessons and I realized I could make our star. Twenty-four years later we still have it, and pulling it out this year also tugged the bitter with the sweet as I was reminded that my painting teacher, Kay Rowe, passed away earlier this year.
There are so many ornaments on the tree that mix joy and sorrow. Many bring memories back of when the kids were little, always poignant. And then there are the beautiful ornaments from when we had Keren. The school she went to had some incredibly creative teachers who figured out ways to include the kids, no matter their abilities, in making Christmas gifts. We have some Christmas balls that were made with swirled paint—deep blue and gold, and rich red and gold. There are also the first Christmas ornaments, and the photos with the kids’ little faces. We have an MAF airplane from a missionary rep friend who stayed with us for one of LeTourneau’s missions conferences, and that one made me think of Kraig’s dad, too. Another loss from this year. There are the ornaments from when Kraig and I were kids, each reflecting places we lived and events in our lives. There’s a sadness in recognizing that’s all in the past, but also a delight in remembering.
The memories run full with every ornament, decoration, and song, joy and sorrow inseparable. Soon we’ll add the joy of cookies and feasts. We’re looking forward to a cookie exchange this week where I plan to make Russian tea cakes (Mexican wedding cakes? Snowballs? What do you call them?). My mom and Kraig’s always make those, though we use pecans, not walnuts. This weekend we’ll feast with the annual church brunch, and then later with families from Kraig’s engineering department—something we look forward to each year. I’m also hoping to try some new things week or next: lemon curd made from the Meyer Lemons from my own little tree. Evie and I harvested all seventeen sunshine globes yesterday afternoon. I wish I could share their scent with you. We were so excited.
This year I’ve been reading through Lanier Ivester’s new Advent companion book, Glad and Golden Hours. In addition to Lanier’s beautiful essays and recipes and crafts, Jennifer Trafton’s art shines across the pages. It is a work of love. I’ve known these two ladies through the Rabbit Room for years now, and I love and admire both—they are beautiful inside and out. I admit, though, I was a little worried I’d be overwhelmed and intimidated by all of the ideas I knew would be in the book; Lanier is a queen of hostessing and creating beauty. But I couldn’t resist opening the pages, and I discovered that rather than suffocating, each time I dip in I sink into the lovely words, and I feel Christmas opening around me. Just reading the book puts me in the mood to do something with what I already have, to rejoice in the beauty God has given us and the promise and hope that Christ brought with his birth. He is with us, and that is the most joyful thing of all.
Art for the week
This week I thought I’d share a photo of an ornament that Kraig’s Grandma Warnemuende painted. She was a gifted artist, and I’m thankful that we have some of her art. Ha! It just struck me that we named Evie after her (same middle name)—the art runs deep on both sides of our families!
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This was beautiful, Loren, and I know all too well the bittersweetness of ornaments on a Christmas tree. I now have my grandparents’ angel topper (though it is small and I use it as an ornament instead of a tree topper) and every time I glance at it, it seems wrong that it should even be there. It should still be on their tree, in their house—but it isn’t somehow. I carry the grief and joy alike in that reality. I loved reading about Keren’s classroom as well; what a gift that you have those ornaments. Praying a merry Christmas for you and yours!
Thanks for sharing this glimpse into your Christmas! It’s inspiring me to find something we can make with our hands in our family this year.