Christmas Letter

Perhaps it was the scenes on Christmas cards delivered so long ago to 154 Warren Avenue and 13 Elinor Avenue. I know it was the Christmas songs played in all our homes, in all the shopping places, everywhere. And the Christmas tales told much more than twice. It rarely snows on Christmas and I've never ridden in a horse-drawn sleigh or tasted a roasted chestnut. But Christmas then and now calls up so many wonderful things. Always snow. Soft and gentle snowflakes that filter all the twinkling, many-colored strings of lights and frost the pungent pine trees. City sidewalks, dressed in holiday style, crowded with package-laden and warmly bundled shoppers. Welcoming porches on farmhouses framed with snow. Through a big window, a beautiful real Christmas tree holding in its arms strings of popcorn and cranberries and long chains the children have made with red and green construction paper, a large brick fireplace ablaze but not harming the stockings hanging from the mantle. Houses outlined with lights and carolers gathering on front lawns. Christmas is ageless and far away places are just outside the door... Dickens leads me down a London High Street where identifying signs swing above busy shop fronts and little girls hurry along hiding their hands deep inside furry muffs. Lampposts decorated with wreaths light the eternal shoppers. And I look for a poor, crippled boy leaning on a little stick. I know he will be fine come Christmas morning and I will listen again for his young, sincere voice proclaiming, "God bless us, everyone!"... I watch a snowman with a tangerine nose and green hat and scarf take the hand of another small boy as they run through the starlit, winter night, faster and faster and faster. Until they are "flying in the air"... I look through a window and there on a stage is a boy with a rather round head, holding a blanket and reciting the real Christmas story, "For unto you is born this day, in the City of David, a Savior which is Christ the Lord." Beside him a straggly, little tree that somehow, with love and attention, stands quite festive and sturdy... Again this Christmas, I'm watching boys in Wales snowballing the cats and knocking down snowmen and each other. I hear Mrs. Prothero beating the dinner gong and announcing ruin. The uncles with full bellies, rumbling in front of parlor fires. The busy aunts, the fragile aunts, and of course Auntie Hannah who is fond of port, standing in the back garden singing like a full-bosomed thrush. The useful presents--and the useless presents like the little celluloid duck that makes a most un-duck-like sound... Philadelphia--and in Wanamaker's grand court beautiful, majestic carols pulse through the pipes of the huge organ, while water splashes, rising and falling, in the fountains before the tree of a million lights... But always when I hear "Silent Night", my heart stirs and all the beautiful, nostalgic, charming trappings of Christmas linger but become shadowy because now I come to the stable. A night that is silent and so very holy. A star shines down on this humble place where a tired young mother watches her newborn Son asleep on a bed of hay in a manger. Kind, attentive Joseph is here. Above the hills just outside this little town of Bethlehem, while shepherds watch their flocks, herald angels explode in the sky with light and sound. The Joy of the whole world has come. Here is Christmas in all its beauty and wonder and truth. The Gift, profoundly inexpressible, far beyond every other gift ever given. The Love, come down to us that first Christmas morning, that fills our hearts and helps us turn to the Babe, our King of Kings, and to each other.
My Christmas is full also with my family. And there are very real memories. Reverent and beautiful Christmas Eve services at Tenth Presbyterian Church in Philly. Later, five shining faces, excited and sleepy at the same time. Pajama-clad and huddled together listening as Mommy reads "T'was the Night Before Christmas" and then Daddy reads Luke 2. Trooping up to bed carrying stockings hand knit by Nanny. Laying those stockings at the foot of each bed and pretending to be asleep later when Mommy sneaks in to retrieve them. Awaking Christmas morning to delight over the stockings brimming over with little presents. Individual memories (maybe for next year's Christmas letter). Christmas now creates new pictures, new memories. Some of our family are gone: my dad, Aunt Patsy and Uncle Henry, Aunt Jeanne, and of course Eric who is so much a part of our Christmases with his voice reciting "A Child's Christmas in Wales" and wrapping Boxing Day gifts last minute with discarded wrapping paper, so enjoying the food and festivities. Still we are all one in heart and rejoice together around our trees, our tables, and always in our shared faith in Jesus Who left the glories of Heaven to come to earth for our salvation and our life everlasting.
My love to each of you and wishes for a joyous Christmas.
Family updates: Heather and Steve in Elmer, New Jersey. 5 children: Caleb,6. Addie, 5. Eden, 3. Lily, 2. And new baby Eric Ian Riley Sulik born June 27th of this year. All the others still in the Chattanooga area. Amy and Scott. 3 children: Oak, 8. Meadow, 6. Dove, 2. Linda and Josh. 3 children: Juden, 3. Ella, 2. And new baby Naya Faith Green born February 15 of this year. Scott and Aimee. And new baby Sophia Elisabeth Riley born May 11 of this year. And Keith who is the best uncle in the world!
My e-mail: Bethmriley@juno.com