Christmas Memories...

Stars at Christmas

Once, coming home from Huntington Canyon, I noticed flickering lights, like stars, here and there, in the distance. It was a lonely road, with only a few farm houses scattered throughout the valley. It was Christmas time. I wondered what was happening in those homes. I was sure they were all decked with brightly colored trees and trimmed with tinsel and someone's favorite decorations – perhaps old, and handed down from their grandma, or even their great grandma.

As I continued to drive, I began remembering.

The earliest memory I could recall was a noise on the roof and sleigh bells by the side window of our front room. It was Christmas Eve, just before bedtime. Going to sleep on Christmas eve was almost more than Santa could expect of an excited boy, however Mom succeeded in convincing me that morning would come quicker if I were asleep. I later learned, of course, that it Dad on the roof with the sleigh bells.

I remembered the small, unshapely cedar tree I cut, when I climbed the hill behind our house, but remembered most the tree upstairs that was full of long, silver, foil icicles, each hanging perfectly straight from almost every single needle. There were always lots of lights, but the thing I remember most was the milky white, five-pointed star on the top of the tree. It had a white light tucked inside, making the star shine brightly. It always seemed to me that the star of Bethlehem must have been white and perfect, just like the one on the top of our tree each year.

My mind continued to race over other events of those early years: Red and green construction paper chains, glued with flour paste; strings of popcorn with shriveled cranberries in and out of the popcorn; colored, glass ornaments all over the tree, each with a memory and story; and glass, bubble lights that took awhile to begin sending their bubbles up the candle-like tubes. And then there were the colored, hardtack candies, in the shapes of animals, that were on sticks like all-day suckers. For some reason, however, the white, paper snowflakes, cut out with scissors, and the five-pointed stars, traced from the stars on our linoleum floor in the kitchen, stand out the most and are still fun to make. It is a way of holding onto the past.

As I changed from that lonely road to the freeway, passing only a car or two, my thoughts shifted to another time in my life. Sleigh riding parties and toboggan rides down the hill in front of our house, which also meant lots of hot chocolate, with marshmallows floating on top, and big bowls of homemade chili, with crumbled soda crackers and tall, cold glasses of milk. I almost hurt all over again remembering the times I was unable to steer the sleigh or hold my legs inside the toboggan, tipping over and nearly missing our clothes line and tree, and getting my legs caught on the frozen, crusted snow as we flew down the hill. And while I'm sure it wasn't safe, I also remember the cautious excitement of being pulled on my sleigh that had been tied with a rope to back bumper of Dad's car. It was difficult to stay on as he turned the corners, with the sleigh bumping along on the snow-packed country roads.

I could almost feel the snowflakes slowly falling and quickly melting as I stuck my tongue out to catch them while looking up into the moonlit night sky. I remember, too, the handiwork of Jack Frost on the inside of our windows. It looked like frozen snowflakes and crystallized stars. Little circles melted into the icy pattern when I touched the patterns with my warm finger tip.

I thought about the trips to Salt Lake to see the lights and to shop. Sears’ toy department must have had every toy in the whole world. It’s where I first listened to Gene Autry and Spike Jones records. Traditions tugged at my heart as I thought about their influence in my life. There was the Christmas day dinner at Hotel Utah Coffee Shop; hearing Bing Crosby and the downtown traditional Christmas music, while shopping along main street and third south in downtown Salt Lake; the animated window displays in ZCMI; the big, tall tree in front of the Tribune building, and the giant stars hung high in the center of each intersection. They were like the milky white star on the top of our tree, I thought.

Before I knew it, the freeway signs were telling me I was nearly home. It brought me to the present as I rehearsed the thing’s Luan and the kids and I have done together. I remember the times I was Santa Claus. The greatest moments of those Santa Claus experiences came when the small children sat on my knee and looked up into my eyes, in their frightened innocence, asking their questions and believing my answers. I caught a momentary glimpse of the feelings, perhaps, the Savior felt as the children came to him and believed. I loved their love.

I always think, at this time of the year, about the magic of Christmas and the effect the Savior has on the whole world, if even for one, small moment. I've always known that it is a celebration of the birth of the Savior - a Baby born so long ago - the Christ child, whose birth was signaled by a star, the star of Bethlehem. Perhaps that is why I love so much the flickering lights of a city, or the faint lights of a distant farm house, or the twinkling lights of a Christmas tree. I'm sure it is why I remember the giant stars in the intersections of downtown Salt Lake, and the milky white star that was on the top of our tree. They all rejoice that Jesus is the Christ and that this is His celebration and that He will come again.

What a night, I had, of Christmas memories and traditions, triggered when I saw those flickering lights in the farm houses, as I traveled home on that lonely road.

Richard - Christmas 1994