An Old-Fashioned Christmas

Our Christmas Hope

I grew up in a small town where no one knew a stranger. Often, a wave, a nod, or a handshake was our way of greeting each other on the sidewalk. If we meandered by a strange face, we’d stop, chat, and five minutes later we’d made a new friend.

We knew your first, middle, and last name. We knew how many kids you had. We knew where you worked, where you lived, and what you drove.

Life in our little community was special.

Parents permitted their children to play outside for hours. Neighbors helped neighbors. God was still talked about in our school. Our local supermarket delivered groceries to the elderly and to the stay-at-home mamas without cars.

Almost everyone attended church on Sundays and those folks who didn’t most certainly did on Easter and Christmas.

My home church was an older brick building that smelled rather musty from time to time. More often than not, many other scents and aromas might make their way into the brightly lit halls and sanctuary—the pungent odor of disinfectant, the familiar fragrance of stale perfume, and the comforting scent of percolating coffee.

During our monthly “dinner-on-the-grounds,” the mouth-watering aromas of fried chicken, freshly baked bread, homemade soups, and pies hot from the oven tickled our noses.

I loved the close-knit church my family attended. It was where I gave my life to Christ and where my daddy just happened to be the pastor.

Holidays were big events in our church and God’s house was lovingly prepared befitting the season.

At Christmas our little church was dressed in its finest. Often, folks would pool their own resources to lend a festive, but reverent air to our beloved place of worship.

Light fixtures were cleaned and polished, the pews decorated with sprigs of holly, and poinsettias placed on opposite ends of the pulpit. A Christmas tree was, of course, displayed and decorated.

None of it was fancy, but still very beautiful in its simplicity.

During the entire month of December, we’d sing Christmas songs in every service. Daddy’s messages centered around hope, Jesus, and everlasting life for those who trusted Him as their personal Savior.

The Sunday before Christmas each family was handed a brown paper bag as they left church. The bags contained a delicious myriad of treats—oranges, apples, ribbon candy, taffy, and chocolate-covered cherries.

Christmas wasn’t as commercialized then and those little bags of goodies were possibly the only Christmas presents that some of our less fortunate members received.

We left with smiles on our faces and wishes of “Merry Christmas” on our tongues.

As a child, of course, I looked forward to the tangible—the presents under our Christmas tree at home—but I also recognized the importance of what this season meant and Who it was about.

Sometimes, I long for those old-fashioned Christmases of years past. I wonder if tomorrow’s children will one day say the same thing or if they’ll even know the difference.

***

Do you have an old-fashioned Christmas memory you’d care to share?

I’m taking the next week off from blogging, but I’ll return again on January 2nd, 2012!

Merry CHRISTmas!

Blessings Always,