Everyone has traditions at Christmastime.
When I was little, we used to visit my Uncle George and Aunt Eleanor on Christmas Eve and have a large family get-together. I saw family—all from my mom’s side—that I only ever saw on Christmas Eve. I remember that the men all played pool and I always wanted to play, but was never allowed near the pool table.
I remember that Aunt Eleanor used to give us communion that night and that I was mystified by the fact that someone who was not a nun or a priest could give communion. I thought that was the most amazing thing and from that moment on, I always wanted to be that person.
After my parents divorced, I don’t remember too much in the way of Christmas Eve traditions, mostly, I think because I was at one home and then another and it always seemed to be changing, but when I was in college and thereafter, when I spent the holidays with my dad, we started a new tradition.
Every Christmas Eve we would attend the service at his church. Toward the end of the service, everyone would take a candle and the church lights would dim and we’d all stand around by candlelight while the pastor’s wife sang “Silent Night.” Cory’s voice was lilting and given the setting and the candles, a little haunting.
After church, we’d go home, my dad and the rest of the family, and stand in the kitchen eating shrimp.
I’m not sure why the shrimp, but I know after we had it that first time, we had to have it each year following—because it was tradition.
I get to start a new tradition this year. I have my own church to attend on Christmas Eve. As the days get closer to Christmas, I realize just how sad I was, not having a church home all these years that I’ve lived down here.
There are people who only ever attend church on Christmas and Easter and for many years I was not one of those people. I didn’t attend church on any Sunday despite my love of God and my need to worship.
I was lost.
I was so lost that I just kept on walking, thinking I’d run into someone who would save me eventually, but like most people who do that sort of thing for real—like getting lost in the woods—I just kept walking farther and farther away from where I needed to be.
And then, this past January, I stopped and admitted to God that I had no idea where I was going and that I couldn’t keep doing what I was doing. It was then that God sent me this little church in middle of those woods I had been so hopelessly lost in.
My very first Sunday in that church was Easter and now I get to spend Christmas with the people who God sent to me to bring me new hope.
This Christmas will always be my first Christmas at Hope. It will always hold a special place in my heart. It will be a day I look back on for the rest of my life.
It will be the start of a new tradition, one of family and friends, one of hope and the promise of good things to come.
