Christmas for me, has always held an innate magic. It is a belief I have retained from my childhood, and it has never dimmed.

I remember being surprised when I ran into someone whose feelings about Christmas were different, and, not at all positive. Afterall, Dec. 25th is just another day in the calendar. A lot of awful things have happened on Christmas Day. My father died on Dec.1, the year I turned 11; we spent that Christmas at my aunt’s house in New Jersey. Even that Christmas retained its magic, but I think I was just young enough that the full enormity of that life changing event hadn’t hit me yet.

Maybe, I was just able to separate tragic events from Christmas Day itself. I know my older brother has been able to, also. I give my parents credit for instilling in us, the magical quality of the holiday. Every aspect of it was straight out of a storybook. A treasured nativity set was placed in our living room fireplace. It was always my older sister’s job to arrange it. It had tiny individual doves for the roof of the stable and a miniature cat chasing a tiny mouse. I always envied that job, hoping that someday I would be old enough to do it!

My father and my brother, Rob, cut pine branches and wove them between the spindles of our stairway. Both the dining room and living room mantels were decorated with pine and spruce, as well as pinecones. The house smelled wonderful! We cut the tree in our own woods and put it up on Christmas Eve, so that it would last until Epiphany. I cannot describe the heart thumping excitement of waiting on that pine covered staircase in my footy pajamas on Christmas morning until my father had lighted the tree and beckoned us on!

Amid all the other chores of the season that fell on my mother, she hosted Christmas dinner for at least 13 people every year. The tablecloth was white linen and fell to the floor on all sides. It was a wonderful place to hide and jump out at my siblings. But, once the red tapers were lighted, I was banned from my wonderful white walled tent! The afternoon was filled with doting aunts and uncles who helped erect new train accessories underneath the tree or dress new dolls in their extra outfits. Christmas, Halloween, and Easter were the only days we were allowed to eat all the candy we wanted without asking first. Believe me I took full advantage of that!

I tried to bring my own version of family Christmas to my first home. I crafted dozens of angels and stars and hung them from the rafters in our living room. My dear Uncle Bob, who was a Presbyterian minister, clasped a hand to his chest when he saw them and murmured, “Oh my! The heavenly host!”
We had a wood stove instead of fireplace, but I assured my oldest daughter that Santa was capable of shrinking to fit down a stove pipe!

Which brings me to the subject of Santa Claus So many people have told me that the magic went out of Christmas when they stopped believing in him. Again, I credit my mother here for her explanation of Santa when I was old enough to question such things. She told me that Santa Claus represented the “spirit of giving.” She went on to say that “anonymous giving” was a wonderful thing and it was something anyone could do. I remember her saying, “Anyone can be Santa Claus for someone else.” So, to this day, I believe in Santa Claus with every fiber of my being!

So, I am sad when the lights and the greenery (fake or real) come down. I leave mine up until the end of January! We need a reason for anticipation. The entire reason for Christmas should fill us with blatant joy! One tiny baby, born in a manger, changed the world! If that isn’t the most miraculous kind of magic, I don’t know what is!