Daily Archives: December 24, 2007

Right now I am sitting in bed, in complete darkness save the glow of my laptop screen.  All I can hear is the clicking of my fingers on the keyboard and the soft breath of my little son, asleep in a portable crib beside our bed.  Jeff is gone — performing his usual Christmas Eve ritual of making something special for me to wake up to Christmas morning.  So, I am here in the silence of this holy night. 

Tonight we went to Christmas Eve service with Jeff’s mom.  The theme for the evening was the silence of this night, on the hushed holiness of the Eve of Christ’s birth, “as if the whole galaxy were holding its breath.”  It is true.  As we drove home tonight it was silent in the car.  Few cars were on the road.  Businesses were closed.  There were no jam packed parking lots or lines extending outside storefronts as there had been just hours before.  It had slowly falled into a silent night.  I remember innumerable Christmas Eves growing up, driving home from my Uncle Tom and Aunt Jan’s house in Hillsboro.  The long car ride was always silent except for soft Christmas music.  We sang along and savored the quietness, the anticipation of the holy day ahead. 

My favorite part of the Christmas Eve service is always the candle-lighting. We all hold these little plastic candle holders with half-burnt white candles that look very tacky in the daylight.  But … at that special moment the sanctuary lights are faded to nothing and the candles begin to be lit, one by one as we turn to our neighbor and within moments the entire sanctuary is aglow with a hundred flickering flames.  I can’t help but get goosebumps every time.  There is nothing magical about all lighting candles, but it does create a stillness, a quiet hush that draws us to recognize the holiness of this special occasion.  Christmas is not ruined for me by commercialism and Santa-ism.  Chrismas is still the most precious, holy, blessed holiday–where we celebrate God’s greatest gift.

Tonight as I crept into the room, I tiptoed over to where Dutch is asleep and watched him, watched the flicker of his eyelids, listened to the sound of his breath.  I tucked the blankets around him and checked to make sure his socks were still on.  It was all I could do to restrain from leaning down to smell his breath–my favorite scent in the world.  Having a son has truly made me appreciate the wonder of Christmas all that much more, and as he sleeps, his precious silent stillness is sacred to me.  His perfectly formed little body, still and at rest.  I stop typing for a moment as he stirs ever so slightly, his legs rustling in the blankets, his mouth making tiny little sucking sounds.  And then it is silent again.  I hear Jeff quietly open the front door as he sneaks in from his creative labors.  The sweetness of this silent night is delicious.   Sleep tight. 

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I’m not a particularly romantic person.  I’m not a fan of flowers or jewelry, so I’ve asked Jeff to skip giving me either one.  The only piece of jewelry I wear (other than my wedding ring) is a solid silver band on my right hand that I never remove.   To me, romance is Jeff taking out the trash without being asked or spending time with Dutch so I can have some free time.  For birthdays and Christmas, my idea of the dream gift is a day spent lounging and reading or spending a fistful of cash shopping alone for house decor or new jeans.  By nature I am practical to a fault.  It’s really kind of a sickness — how I think balancing my checkbook and making grocery lists is fun, somehow.

All of this to say that I’m not a fan of snow.  Almost everyone I know (except my dad who is most likely the giver of my practical gene) loves snow.  Especially in the valley, a few little wispy white flakes and everyone goes bonkers.  To me, it’s kind of the same as rain.  I’m pretty much happy whatever the weather, so it’s all the same to me.  But today we are in Bend, celebrating Christmas with Jeff’s mom and step-dad, his brother and wife and their daughter, and his grandma.  My parents are here as well.  Jeff and I and my parents and Dutch are staying in the guest house, a brand new darling 1,100 s.f. cottage that makes upscale resorts look like shacks.  So this morning, as we lifted Dutch from his portable crib and let him scurry into bed with us, we looked out the window behind our bed.

It had snowed.  Everything was covered with a blanket of brilliant white.  Flurries of beautiful snow continued to fall all morning.  Dutch 2wa`1`w2qq21 (that was Dutch typing–he’s helping me write this).  Dutch was fascinated, my mom was ecstatic, and Jeff was pulling on his sweats  and shoes to go gather a snowball to show Dutch.  Later that morning, Dad and I took a long walk in the snow, the icy wind biting our cheeks, but the warmth of the Central Oregon sun warming our backs as we walked and talked.  Later as I was carrying Dutch from the guest house to the main house, I listened to the snow crunching underfoot as Dutch chatted happily and pointed at the doggies, the trees, the snow.  I realized then that there is something truly magical about snow.  Yes, it makes driving more difficult and it’s messy to clean up.  But here, tucked into our warm cabin on Christmas Eve, a fresh blanket of snow is the icing on our perfect holiday cake.  Now, the sun is bright and the sky is blue, so the fields surrounding the house are glimmering blinding white.  The fire inside is crackling, and I’m thinking about another cup of hot tea and maybe even one more sugar cookie.   Christmas in Bend has already been so wondrously … well, romantic.  I haven’t glanced in my checkbook or even thought about what I’ll be cooking for dinner when we get home.  I’m going to savor every moment of snuggling with Jeff, laughing at Dutch tear through tissue paper, lounging with my feet up, and walking in the icy crunch of snow.  I’m thankful for this Christmas in Bend, and I’m thankful for the snow.