Growing up in a family with four siblings in West Texas, my parents always managed to make memorable Christmases. Along the way, and somewhat accidentally, they created a family tradition that carries on to this day.
One Christmas, my older sister, Beth, decided she wanted to give her own gift to each member of the family on her own. She bought and wrapped each person’s present herself, making sure to take into account everyone’s interests and requests. For what was sure to be our brother, Bill’s, favorite gift, she had secured a plastic army helmet he had been requesting for months. The problem is, in the time before gift bags were ubiquitous, there’s not really a great way to wrap a plastic army helmet and maintain any semblance of mystery about the gift.
Bill immediately announced to the entire family that he knew the contents of the package under the tree. Beth was beside herself. Her perfect surprise was ruined. There would be no Christmas morning shock, just a smug “I knew it” from Bill. My mother, in an attempt to restore some peace in the house, tried to quiet him.
“You don’t know that’s an army helmet. That could be anything.”
“Oh, yes, I do. That’s my army helmet,” Bill insisted.
It was then that my mom said the first alternative she could think of, in words none of us would ever forget.
“For all you know, that’s underwear in a bowl,” and we all giggled at the idea, knowing that was beyond ridiculous.
My mother was steadfast, “Yep, I bet that’s underwear in a bowl.”
Maybe it was the look of sadness on her daughter’s face. Maybe it was the smugness of Bill, having figured it all out. Maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever the reason, on the day before Christmas Eve, after all the kids had gone to bed, my mom executed her plan. She took the army helmet, carefully unwrapped it so as not to tear the paper, then took that wrapping paper and wrapped up a cheap plastic bowl with a fresh pair of Fruit of Loom inside, placing it back under the tree before going to bed that night. She said nothing the next morning and let Bill revel in his final moments of gloating.
Christmas came and, despite the size of my family, we always took turns unwrapping gifts, one at a time. No need to unwrap the army helmet, first, thought my brother. He had that one figured out. He wanted to uncover the mystery of the other gifts. Finally, at long last, he came to the “army helmet.” My sister was ready to skip it, but my mom stopped her and said, “No, let’s see what it is.”
The shock on my brother’s face was only surpassed by the confusion on my sister’s as he did indeed unwrap underwear in a bowl. After the chaos died down, my mother produced the army helmet, one that has remained at their house for years, and that my own kids have played with.
Since that Christmas, it’s become a tradition, when my siblings get together around Christmas, that one of us will get underwear in a bowl. The bowls are usually nicer, and the underwear is always still in the package, but it’s just as funny each time. Whenever one of us got married, and that first Christmas came around, our new spouse would always be confused at the references to “underwear in a bowl” and the strangely wrapped packages on Christmas morning, but then we would tell them the story. They’d get to laugh along and want to participate the next time.
In the same way, when Advent and Christmas come around, our jargon can be strange to an outsider. We speak about a God-King who came to conquer the world, born to poor parents and laid in a stable on his first night. We sing songs about astrologers coming from afar with strange gifts. We tell our children of the mad king who sought to kill hundreds of baby boys in a small village. Rather than exclusionary, though, these practices and stories are meant to invite people in, to be part of the story, and to share in the joys against the backdrop of cold and bitter winters. Not only to be the family in a home, but to come together as a family to light Advent candles on Sunday mornings and sing hymns as we walk out into the night before Christmas.
At the center of it all is the unexpected way God would redeem His creation from the disease of sin. When the prophets foretold of one who would be King of Kings, Lord of Lords, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, no one could have predicted it would start with a scared young girl, a stable birth, and shepherds as the first heralds of the Good News. God is all about the unexpected.
— Trey Medley
