The very first South Main Christmas service my family attended was 30 years ago. Looking back, the amount of time passed, the relationships deepened, and the consistency of the church in my life is, of itself, something to be cherished.
During my childhood we would arrive early with the Geary clan, my maternal cousins, to save as many seats as possible. We were large in number with the additional attendance of grandparents, aunts, and uncles. The seats glistened in their lush red velvet and ornate iron mechanisms allowing just enough room to squeeze into the folding chair. I remember gawking at the Christmas casual fashion as the Sanctuary filled with attendants adorned in red, green, white, and the occasional fancy black. The affair itself was a spectacle beyond the seasonal message and for a young girl looking around, the magic of Christmas filled the air. After Silent Night was sung and we loaded back into the baby blue Suburban to head home, the real excitement began for my brother and me. For us, the Christmas tradition continued around the supper table and finished with a single gift to open.
The feast was always the same, never changing, which added to the reflective nature of the meal (24-hour teriyaki marinade grilled pork tenderloin, twice baked potatoes and Caesar salad). Gathering around the supper table was a normal occurrence. We were blessed to have two parents who made every effort to facilitate family time each night. However, Christmas Eve felt different. The overhead lights were lowered, Mom laid out the Christmas plaid tablecloth, candles burned in the silver candlesticks, and the Christmas china made an appearance. The ambience itself facilitated a reverent attitude, and we embraced the moment to reflect on the past year. The sweet reminisces of travels shared, lessons learned, and new friends made always seemed to carry more gravitas as we slowly ate, never rushing to finish.
To this day, one memory sticks out the most from all the years (20 at least) we had the same tradition. It will always bring a smile to my face and chuckle to my heart. Dad was in an especially introspective mood, deep in thought and grateful for the family he had in us. The joy on his face and the twinkle in his eye is a sweet memory. Dad gazed into the candles and sighed “This is my favorite meal of the year.” Without looking up from his plate, my ten-year-old brother replied “Yeah! And you don’t even need ketchup!” We all instantly fell into laughter at the pure-hearted reflection of my brother in a way that perfectly mirrored his sweet spirit.
May we all come into this Christmas season cherishing the memories of yore with a childlike wonder and a hopeful openness to new traditions shared.
— Ginny Hightower
