December 17, 2020

Photo by Dan LeFebvre on Unsplash

I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.                                John 14:11

 No other season emphasizes the festive fare more than Christmas Time.  You know – the time-honored baking that comes only once a year.  From the parade of spicy fruit cake and mince pie, delicate shortbread and frosted pound cake that would march to the dining room table on the best china of two and three-tier plates; to the delectable past confectionaries of colourful ribbon candy, animal-shaped clear toys, pink chicken bones, and sweet bridge mixture that graced the small crystal bowls and newly-polished silver trays when company came.

In the midst of our own growing up, my brother and I were never in want of life’s necessities, least of all food.  There was never a time of scarcity nor empty plates like our Dad experienced when he emigrated from England with his parents.  A cherished long-ago memory imagines the lumpy stockings that would lay under the tree on those magical mornings.  My brother and I would gather each one, eagerly running upstairs to our parents’ bed.  Everyone took their turn to reveal the unwrapped treasures of perhaps a colouring book, a toy watch, or maybe crayons or lifesavers but always an orange or apple. 

But Dad’s was always left to the end.  His long black wool stocking was the largest - the one he wore in the navy during World War II.  But inside, each item was individually wrapped in shiny holiday paper.  As he slowly tore each apart, the contents would show an onion, carrots, the odd potato, and on occasion a can of brown beans.  The deeper he dug, the more agricultural items burst forth.  Dad’s feigned disgruntlement was always upstaged by our fits of laughter.  Dad had such joy in the role he played; and every year, it remained unchanged.

Whatever their circumstances, children have a tendency to think every child grows up similarly.  It would not dawn on them to think otherwise unless a situation presented itself.  But you see, I have another memory.  I was about eleven. Two days before Christmas, Dad returned home after gifting food.  After overhearing him describe to Mum how the children gathered near their mother as he carried in several boxes of groceries, I can still hear those two words he uttered, “She cried.”

 Joy does wear many masks.

Prayer: Dear God, open our eyes to the joys of Christmas, not only in receiving but in giving.

Corinne Hoebers is retired and lives in Kentville.