The Stockings are Hung, But They’re Not Coming Home
It’s Christmas Eve and a rather quiet one. Reminiscing of days gone by, we rarely had a quiet night, ever. The chaos of five kids within an eight-year span brought liveliness and constant chatter, much to the dismay of the eldest child, the only son, sentenced to a life with four talkative little sisters.
We managed to successfully be together most Christmases as they were growing up. However, even then, there were a few years their dad was away during the holidays, serving soldiers and airmen in harm’s way, far away from home. Christmas came and the celebration carried on, even though we weren’t all home together.
Fast forward the many holidays in new places and new homes (18 with children in tow), and one by one, they all moved away to college. But they all came home for Christmas.
Christmas Eves continued with the traditional candlelight service and birthday cake for Jesus and culminated with everyone opening one gift (usually pajamas). All five (now) adult children would revert to childhood and leave their stockings outside the door of the one bedroom they all slept in together, anticipating Santa filling their stockings by morning. At least one child would wake early and begin unwrapping their stocking gifts in the dark, nudging the others to wake up and join in the thrill of guessing each gift by feeling the shape or rattling the contents. (Of course, there was at least one who was known to slug the sibling who dared wake her before her time.) Oh, the joy of having them all home for Christmas.
After college graduations, they still managed to all come home for a few years. But then came the weddings. And sharing holidays with in-laws. And having babies who, understandably, make it difficult to travel during the holidays. And living thousands of miles away, even as far as Africa. All joyous milestones. But now they don’t all come home for Christmas.
Yet the celebration continues. The hours spent unwrapping gifts Christmas morning in years gone by is now replaced with video calls throughout the day with worn-out moms and dads and excited grands demonstrating their new toys, along with great exclamations of “Happy Birthday, Jesus!”
We begin the morning in the usual way, Colleen’s coffee cake and tea and coffee. We met Colleen at our first military duty station in South Carolina and we’ve made her “Poor Man’s Coffee Cake” every Christmas morning since 1994. We read our Advent devotions by tree and candle light. We bask in the love and admiration that a baby boy could transform us in such life-changing ways. We read, and ponder, and wonder. We pray for our children in Africa who delight in the opportunity to visit neighbors today to share stories from Christ’s birth, most who have never heard of Jesus, our Messiah.
And though our home does not ring with chaos and laughter of siblings and best friends unwrapping gifts and wrestling on the living room floor, we give great thanks for the memories of years gone by. Of the bikes and basketball hoops and doll beds assembled after everyone had gone to bed. The five funny kids excitedly perched at the top of the stairs waiting with great anticipation for Mom and Dad to get their tea and coffee and set the video camera up, and for the go-ahead to tumble down the stairs to see what Santa brought.
Fond memories make for warm Christmas mornings when the children don’t come home. The joyful celebration of the birth of our Savior holds us together though we are miles apart. And the promise of the next generation leads us into a Hope-filled new year. As our children teach their children the truth and traditions of this season, we rejoice in the faithfulness of the Father to our family.
“Mama, did you know Jesus was born with no shoes and no socks and NO BLANKIES,” two-year-old Hannah Jo explains to my daughter. That’s right, Hannah. Because He loved us so. And though we are miles apart, we can still rejoice together.