I love the Christmas season. Our tree full of memories glowing softly in the front room with my husband’s village and train beneath it. The train chugging along softly past the glowing houses. The piano adorned with my village and the miniature people building snowmen, caroling, and ice skating. My Mother-in-law’s beautiful oil winter scene and my father’s water color winter roads hang on the wall for background. Our stockings hang from the fireplace mantel in expectation of things to come. A wreath created from tree cuttings hangs on the wall above the fireplace reminding us of the never ending love of Christ. An angel sits below it surrounded by whimsical snowmen. Lights weave in and out illuminating the wreath and scene below it. Displayed across our entertainment center is our nativity. The crèche houses Mary and Joseph watching over Baby Jesus as the shepherds and wisemen look on in wonder. Lights threaded through the figurines radiate its warmth and lift our eyes to the angel above heralding the coming of the Savior. The house smells of pine and cinnamon and baking.
The children seem to be infused of excitement and their peels of laughter bounce of the walls in a cacophony of sound. Our home is infused with memories and love. We gather in the evening to read our scriptures and Christmas stories by the tree. Stories of the true meaning of Christmas; of giving service and love. The children hang on every word and no one wants this magical time to end.
There is a special spirit at Christmas, or maybe the spirit is just stronger because we are celebrating the birth of His Son. Everything so warm and wrapped in love, it is just a little easier to be patient and kind, and we seem to say please and thank you even more. It’s not that much different from the rest of the year but there is simply an extra measure of love.