The funny thing about home is, whenever I return to it in Foley, MN, it's like I'm entering a different life. Things suddenly slow down, walking everywhere isn't an option so the car becomes a necessity, and something as simple as watching a movie turns into a big event.
As I drove home for Christmas this year, I looked forward to these things, but tried as hard as I could to pack my schedule to avoid lulls in the long days. Mission accomplished. I ended up with just one slow day of the week I spent at home, filling my time with activities ranging from Christmas Caroling, to movie nights with friends, to after-Christmas shopping, to puzzling with my "adopted grandma," to snow fights and snack-eating races with the kids from church.
*Allow me to explain what a snack-eating race is, before you assume that I am single-handedly causing a choking hazard... After our church services in Foley, we have a "coffee hour," which a family hosts, providing cookies or some sort of snack, along with coffee, water, or lemonade. At 22 years old, I still sit at the kids table, with a couple others close to my age, and then a family or two of younger kids. It always begins as a time to chat and eat... then one person finishes the snack, then a second person finishes the snack, and stacks their cup on top of the other empty cup.
At this point, without a word being spoken to suggest it's time to finish, those with food left begin cramming it in, and chugging the juice, because the last person to stack their cup at our table will be the same person walking all eight glasses and napkins up to the counter. Is it unfair that I take bigger bites than a 10-year-old? Maybe... but then again, it's not like the 10-yr-old will always be the youngest in the group. Someone new will always come along.*
Among all those activities, there seems to be one that really stands out to me each time I go home for Christmas... and it happens each Christmas Eve during the church service.
Our church has a tradition to hand everyone a candle as they walk in for the Christmas Eve service. This candle sits idly in the pew until the final song, when the lights are turned off, each candle is lit, and the congregation sings "Silent Night," all four verses. The third verse is sung without accompaniment. That's my favorite part of the service.
It's not watching the autistic confirmation kid forgo the lighter to instead try lighting the advent candles with a match, only to singe his knuckle hairs, drop the match on the carpet, stomp it out, and mutter audibly for the remainder of the "Call to Worship."
It's not listening to the choir, as a group, forget two or three words of the introit, and basically hum those two notes before remembering the words mid-sentence.
It's the quiet, reverent singing of a quiet, reverent song as I sit in a dimly lit church... as we, the congregation, the family, are alone to our thoughts and faith... Alone, together. I'll never forget those moments.
After that church service, those same kids I mentioned, from the regular coffee hour table, came with to sing Christmas carols to some of the older folks from the church. It appeared that one of the ladies we were going to sing to had already gone to bed, or wasn't home altogether... so instead of singing to her, we began a snowball fight in her yard at about 8:40 p.m., and I took the opportunity to dunk the same 10-year-old's head in a snow bank a couple times.
Without a wrap-up, that's my Christmas Story. I'm back here in the cities and working now, after spending Christmas Day sleeping off a cold, and the 26th watching the T-Wolves win their second consecutive game. AND to save you from asking, I'll leave you with this... No, I'm not sure why those kids still hang around me... and Yes, I'll treat them just as 'badly' the next time I'm home.
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