Christmas Traditions Warm the Heart by Betty Jo Schuler

     Christmas Eve, late at night, my husband Paul and I pour a glass of

wine, sit on the floor by our fragrant long-needled pine, the room lit

only by the tree's soft lights, and exchange gift-wrapped boxes

containing ornaments we bought one another.  This tradition began

twenty-five years ago, the year we met, when he gave me a breathtaking

bauble—a clear glass pear-shaped ornament containing a partridge and a

pear tree.  Every Christmas Eve since, we've exchanged ornaments in a

special moment of quiet, peace, and love.  A Candlelight Service at our

church, early in the evening, followed by family gift-giving at my

mother's, sets the tone for this special night.

     Our Christmas tree, cut from the forest days earlier, is decked

with love and memories, and on this particular night, we reminisce.

There's a tiny red-and-white striped stocking, yellowed over the years,

that I bought the year my first son was born.  (Paul wasn't a part of my

life then; we married when my youngest son was in high school, but they

are like his own and he's a beloved stepfather.)  A "God's Eye" made of

Popsicle sticks woven with yarn nestles in the branches, a gift made by

our first grandson, his initials on the back, written in crayon.

Picture-frame ornaments with photos of other grandchildren, when they

were small, evoke tender memories.  A smiling ice cream cone, a gift

from my daughter and her husband, marks the sale of my first published

children's book, Ice Cream for Breakfast.  A china bell with shamrocks,

brought from Ireland, and a gold cross from Rome, are mementos from my

youngest son and his wife's travels.  Paul's and my trips are noted too,

and there are decorations given to us by his brother and sister, and

mine, and my favorite cousin.  Beaded candy canes and wreaths were made

by an aunt that's deceased.     And the lights that bubble around the

bottom of our Christmas tree were purchased only a few years ago, but

reminders of Paul's childhood, they still intrigue little ones. The

quilted tree skirt, hidden by piles of gifts before our family opening,

bears a large green S on a background of red and white—a treasured gift

made by our daughter-in-law.  Our middle son and his wife gave us

appropriate ornaments for our interests, a golf club for my husband and

a book for me.

     The day we take our ornaments, some shimmering, some dulled by the

years, from their boxes, is a special one at our house.  Most of the

boxes are labeled with the date, and a description, but others are

labeled in our minds.  And each year on the night before Christmas, we

reminisce.   

Merriest Christmas Ever by Betty Jo Schuler  

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