The Joy of my Christmas

As I open the first box, I am at first a little apprehensive with the thought of getting out these same, old, dusty remembrances of Christmases past that for so many years brought stress and tears, and for others brought overwhelming joy.  I notice first that everything is packed away so nicely and carefully, a far cry from the years of small children, demanding husbands and my desire to just get the stuff out of my sight. The person that lovingly stored these items obviously was so at peace with the season and with the treasures that she was protecting.

With each little package wrapped in tissue paper, a memory comes to me.  I open a tiny angel made out of plaster which one of my girls painted in a light, faint blue with an orange face.  I smile as I remember days of kids at the kitchen table engrossed in their Christmas projects.  Another tissue package reveals an angel made of paper, ribbon, and a wooden ball for the head and I recall Annie beginning her tradition of hand made personalized ornaments for each year that passed.  I open up a small ceramic bell and William's face comes into my head as my recollection of his 7 year-old face smiling as I opened it up all those 30 some years ago.  And oh, another small ceramic bell...is this the one(?) oh well, one of these bells is Will's present to me.

And then last night my daughter says to me..."Well Mom, that's the gift of Papa.  He loves people for who they are, not for what they appear to be."  And there is another Christmas memory for me...not even in a material item that I place on our small tree in the living room...but from the mouth of my youngest, my Annie.