I love Christmas.
As I look back on fifty years of life, many of my memories are associated with Christmas. It is sort of a memory marker of the years.
Growing up in Green Cove Springs. Nyquist Circle. White house. Big yard. Hardwood floors. Christmas tree in the living room.
Watching the gifts grow under the tree. Counting the gifts for me. Waiting for Christmas morning.
The earliest gifts that I can remember getting were Rock'em Sock'em Robots and Smash-Up Derby. Punching robots until their necks pop up and crashing cars and watching their parts fly across the room. Every little boy's dream.
After opening presents, we had a huge breakfast around our family table. Bacon. Eggs…cooked in bacon grease. Sausage. Toast. Jellies. Juice.
It seems like a lifetime ago. But it is a sweet memory. Almost iconic. Like a Norman Rockwell painting.
As the years passed, our Christmas time grew even more special.
Many in my family trusted Jesus Christ for salvation.
Christmas was more than just a time of getting together and gift getting. It was a time to remember the ultimate Gift from God.
We sang Christmas carols together on Christmas Eve. Shared memories. Gave thanks. Laughed together. Focused on Christ.
The gifts became more fun too. We rarely put our names on the "From" line of the Christmas tag. Instead, we used fake names that hinted at the gift inside. Gifts from Mr. Norelco, Betty Crocker, Ronald Reagan, Rocky, and Willie Nelson soon found their way under our tree.
I can never remember feeler closer to my family than during those times.
Deep down I think we all knew that we were experiencing something special.
The last Christmas with my sister, Jill, is forever stamped on my mind. As we shared together in the living room, she began to cry. "I am thankful for this Christmas because I didn't think that I would have another one with the family."
The ravages of cancer continued to attack her body.
Weak. Tired. Skinny. Sunken skull from numerous surgeries.
Yet her faith was strong.
I still see her in my mind on that Christmas day. I want to freeze the memory in my mind. Go back to it. Relive it. Hug my sister once again.
But it is gone. And she is too.
The next few years were filled with more and more grandkids, more and more gifts, more and more memories, a bigger and bigger breakfast table.
My dad leading us in prayer.
My dad. The one who seemed to have no interest in Jesus Christ when I was young. Hard working. Self-sufficient. Hard to know. Focused on golf, gardening, and the weather. Yet broken by the death of his daughter. Drawn to her faith. Redeemed by her Savior.
Kneeling to the One born on Christmas Day.
The years continue to pass and I find myself reflecting more and more on these past Christmases.
I miss them. I want to recapture them.
I feel the pull of time. Always pushing us forward even when we want to stop and hold onto the moments.
Nostalgia brings a strange mixture of joy and sorrow. Smiling at the memory and weeping that the time is gone.
There's an age you reach when the time behind you becomes more than the time ahead of you.
It is easy to get stuck in the past.
But Christmas reminds us that we are part of a bigger story.
That our hope is ahead of us.
That the best is yet to come.
And that one day I will hug my sister again.
