This fall when the merchants put away the Halloween stock and put out the Christmas wares, our first reaction was a sinking feeling, Oh, dear, is there nothing left of the old childhood magic? And when Santa Claus came to town right after Thanksgiving in broad daylight, rather garish and definitely masquerading, the depression got worse than ever. All the old charm and wonder seemed gone from the holiday. Then when a different Santa Claus appeared in every store, common as floorwalkers, and trees and wreaths and lights and tinsel appeared in most homes as well as stores, and everywhere you looked you were urged to buy this, buy that for Christmas - then surely it seemed that the whole matter was commercialized beyond endurance and might best be ignored, except for the services on Christmas day.
Why, when we were little, we looked forward to Christmas in a thrilling imaginative way. The tree was never seen till it burst on us in all its glory Christmas morning (with some of our neighbors, on Christmas eve). And the gifts at our house were mostly small in money value, often home-made, but always surprises. Though I must admit that some of our playmates were awfully practical about the matter and pinned their parents down to promises in advance, one of them even boasting when he was 10 that he would get a bicycle for christmas when he was 12. It wasn't our custom to demand gifts -- we loved the unexpected. We wrote lettters to Santa Claus but we burned them ceremoniously in the fireplace, firmly believing that the wind carried the messages to the North Pole. So far as I remember our mother and father never infringed on the enchantment by reading what we wrote. It would have embarrassed us to have given our letters to a man dressed in a red suit and artificial white beard -- that would have seemed like begging and would have destroyed the marvel of it all. The first thing we did on Chritmas morning was to throw the windows open wide -- and it would be really early, with the air still dark blue with night and the stars still bright overhead -- and sing as lustily as we could, "Joy to the World." Then we would rush downstairs to the wonder of Christmas. Gifts were part of it, but I don't remember them as being the peak of interest at all -- it was the whole exciting wonder of the spirit of the day.
Maybe it is because we are getting older, but from Halloween to the middle of December the thought of Christmas was something of a disappointment and a burden. We went through the usual motions - the fruitcakes, the cookies, the candies, the lists, the sewing, the planning; just chores, just habit.
Then came a lift, when we heard that the soldier son would actually get home for the day. Maybe that was the catalyst needed -- or maybe it was a combination of items; A bit of snow, a chill in the air, a cloud pattern in the sky, the sun-bright gleam of wonder on a child's face, the unexpected strains of a favorite old carol. Whatever the cause, suddenly the elements fell into the right pattern, touched and fused and blazed into the ancient miracle, the same old unquenchable, flaming loving-kindness toward the whole world.
So has it ever been and so may it ever be. And happy is the home with children and grandchildren to renew the glory every time. May you all have the Christmas which is Hope, the spirit of Christmas which is Peace, and the heart of Christmas which is Love. -- Hope.