Faced with the glorious colors and smells of the season, I find myself immersed in a continual outpouring of memories from the past.
I used to love Christmas because I was a kid. A little girl who loved sitting around the Christmas tree and stare at the big Nativity Scene my mother used to make.
As a child, I wrote my letters not to Santa, but to Little Boy Jesus, and my parents used to hide my older sister and my Christmas presents, to put them on the shoes we would place at the chimney, on Christmas Eve.
And we would wake up early on Christmas morning and open all of our presents. And we would be so happy. And all was right with the world.
And though sometimes I still consider myself a child, that feeling is gone. And I miss it so much.
Christmas is not about killing ourselves in the effort to create the perfect holiday. It is not about buying the best gifts, or having the most ornately decorated house in town. Christmas is the time for us to remember the warmth we felt having our families together and happy.
Life is sure to take us places we would much rather not go, and time is bound to move us far away from those we have loved. It is the recollections of the time we spent together that will ease the distance, and fill the void of those missing faces now.
Hang on tightly to those moments calling out to you from years gone by; they are the stuff Christmas is made of.
But nostalgia will go away… and I’ll enjoy this Christmas Day as much as I can with my present family.









