Thanksgiving was and is my favorite holiday, but that’s not to say Christmas doesn’t have it’s own traditions and fond memories. From the cozy wood-burning fireplace that left us Webb kids cologned with a smoky scent, to the Christmas tree me and my Daddy would hunt and then cut down, Christmas was wonderful. We would strategically place the inevitable big hole on one side of the tree towards the wall, in hopes it would pass Momma’s inspection. We covered the tree in those classy silver icicles and lit it up with strands of big fat, colored bulbs. (I think they were for exterior lights, but hey… our tree was bright!) My most favorite Christmas memory would have to be the bikes!
School was out. Christmas vacation had come and so had the snow! My brother and I played outside in the yard, the pasture, and the barn. All day it seemed. We made tunnels in the hayloft and sat in the warm sweet-smelling hay. We hooked up Nubbin, our little horse, to the sled my Dad built, and went on legit sleigh rides through the snow. We had a blast! Christmas Eve came and we went to bed knowing just how many presents we had under the tree. When Christmas morning dawned, we ran with excitement to the living room. We were utterly shocked by the two bikes parked by the tree!
What? How? we demanded. Momma and Daddy said it must have been Santa, but we were no Santa-believers. Then with smiles in their eyes, they said they had hid them, to which we scoffed, for we had been all over our property that week. We hid them in the barn, Daddy said. No way! We had played in the barn hard-core. But did you go in the chicken coop, Daddy asked? The abandoned, “fertilized” chicken coop? Nope! Not there! We laughed, and thought it was incredible we had literally been playing on top of our surprise bikes all week!
Doug the Pug and Dee Dee Doo rode the manly Huffy and I rode the pretty Prairie Flower for years to come. We rode up to Pat’s house, fearful of the Dobermans, and then raced back down the big hill. Sometimes we’d go further, to Rita’s, the sketchy hair salon that refunded empty bottles. We’d ride down with our collection and come out of Rita’s with one grape Crush to share between us and whoever else had tagged along. Good memories. BEST. PRESENT. EVER.
I hope this year you are finding yourself in happy holly-days, although for some, this season may not seem all that merry and bright. I hope your memories will bring you smiles as you treasure and cherish them. But, no matter what side of the tinseled-tree we are sitting on, I hope we will all accept and open that one present. The one that always remains. The one with your name on it. The one that contains lasting Love, amazing Grace, and Hope that heals. It is the BEST. PRESENT. EVER.