Life Nurturing Education

I hope your Christmas is full of blessing and wonder.

Growing up, my family always decorated the house the day after Thanksgiving. My brother and I piled silver tinsel on each branch of the small pine. Then while we slept, Mom removed the mess and placed every handmade ornament perfectly. I snooped under the transformed tree while the colored lights glowed. Even if my gifts were trick-wrapped, I figured out what the boxes contained. Try as I might to wait for Christmas Day, my curiosity ruled me and ruined my surprise.

One family tradition involved an entire afternoon dedicated to powdered sugar. Every year we frosted too many sugar cookies. My conscience vividly remembers Mom saying, “Stop licking the knife,” and the sick, sugary feeling in my stomach afterwards. I dreaded frosting the double batch of cookies, but I persevered to enjoy the time with my mom.

Now that I am the mother, I wonder what my children will remember about Christmas. I strive to live purposefully, but it doesn’t always happen. As a result, our traditions are not well-defined. We decorate on a whim, or when the light strands are rekindled. Bug’s porcelain winter lighthouse is put out first to appease little elves. We arrange the nativity set I painted as a young girl and attend church service on Christmas Eve.

Our simple rituals do not match my ideal picture of sweet cherubs listening to their father recite the story of Jesus’ birth, in the original Greek, while I serve hot chocolate and prepare gift bags for all the neighbors. That image is unrealistic, but it does capture something important. A wise stranger told Four n’ Twenty,

Now that is what the Christmas season is about, parents spending time with their kids.

That is what I remember most fondly. Traditions need not be elaborate to be special. It is time to get the cookie dough ready.

As a child I was enamored by snow globes. Whether cheap plastic toys with a blue background or glass orbs over intricate designs, I gazed wistfully into the magical miniature world full of wonder. When the blizzard stopped and the snow slowly fell to the bottom, I waited for every last flake to fall before I shook it again.

On our honeymoon almost 14 years ago, my husband bought me a beautiful snow globe. An angel wearing a scarlet velvety gown sheltered baby Jesus. The wind-up music box underneath played Jesus Loves Me. It was an extravagant gift at the time, and not like my practical, simple self to like a gilded knick-knack. Yet this token reminded me of the wonder of childhood on the threshold of married life.

It is, also, unlike me to cry if something breaks, but when the glass dashed into pieces a few years ago, I wept. Mopping up the glittery water, I remembered when a nineteen-year-old girl committed to love, honor, and cherish a young man who promised the same. Some questioned whether it would last. Others warned against marrying so young. But a few believed love is stronger than death.

Now in the Christmas aisle of the grocery store, the snow globes enchant my little girls. A fan blows sparkles all over Cinderella and Winter Wonderland blares through a tiny speaker. All this excitement happens with just the push of button. In motherly fashion I say,

When I was a kid, we had to shake our snow globes. When did they put batteries in these things?

This captive Cinderella either had a blizzard swirling around her or stood in complete serenity. Sometimes I relate to that. My days are a tornado of activity, and the nights are usually calm. I am either in a frenzy of planning and wishing, or quietly content.

I like the old snow globes better. The result of your efforts is plainly seen. The snow can gently fall. It isn’t all or nothing. Perhaps the perfect snow globe doesn’t exist any more than a perfect marriage, but many years ago I bet my life that magic and wonder can endure. I chose to risk love. It is rarely easy, but so worthwhile.