It started with waking up to a little boy's whispers in the bed across my room. I listened to his quiet imaginary play for a while and then said, "Good morning, Peter."
"Good morning," he whispered back. "Should we read a book from your shelf?" So he joined me in bed and we read three books. Soon Nana came in to give us good morning kisses; the rest of the household was stirring too. Peter and I went downstairs where Aaron was making sausage scramble for breakfast. We came hungry to the table and feasted on eggs, toast, and grapefruit. After cleaning up the kitchen, we gathered in the living room. We had a small debate about which version to read the Christmas story in -- King James, our traditional version, or English Standard, the version Peter has learned it in. Dad chose ESV for Peter, but in some parts the King James quoters won out over his reading.
And then, gifts. Each person gathered the gifts he or she had been collecting (in the previous months, weeks, days, or hours), and the giving began. There was much delight as gifts traveled back and forth across the room -- toys, jewelry, travel accessories, clothing, CDs. "Oh, nice!" Lucy exclaimed. The thoughtfulness and personal attention and excitement were extravagant and precious gifts. By the time we had finished making our rounds, the turkey, tucked into the oven the night before, was almost done.
So, we migrated to the kitchen. Potatoes went into the pot and onto the stove; the turkey came out of the oven to rest (while we snatched scraps of crispy skin to snack on). Lucy ate early so she could go down for a nap, and we set the table. Meanwhile, Jeff and Peter played in the tepee that Jeff received for Christmas perhaps eighteen years ago. They gathered some play people, also from our childhood, and assigned each one a name of someone in our family. Jeff, spilling out the open door of the tepee, offered advice and affirmation while Peter proposed and carried out various scenarios.
Dad carved the turkey, Melissa cooked the vegetables, Heidi made the gravy, Mom supplied serving dishes, I mashed the potatoes. Dinner was ready! It was a beautiful feast, a happy table, a satisfying meal.
After clean-up, we had a lull in the festivities. Some people found a bed or a couch or a rug on the floor for a little nap; others puttered at cleaning up or uploading pictures of all the holiday events onto computers. Heidi got out her Christmas cookies and we all flocked to the kitchen again. Then we got out two games: "A Ticket to Ride" and "Pandemic." Between the two, there was room for all nine adults to play. Peter and Lucy wandered around the table from lap to lap, snuggling and playing and wanting to be a part. The kitchen re-opened for more serious business: a piece of lefsa or two with some turkey, a scoop of mashed potatoes, a bit of cranberry jello. The kids went to bed (my sixth night in a row of tucking Peter in, much to our mutual delight) and we began preparations for the feature presentation of the evening: the play within a play at the end of "A Midsummer Night's Dream," performed by Heidi, Julie, and Jeff as we did it perhaps twelve years ago for Mom and Dad. I found the script online and printed it, we had a quick meeting to make sure we knew which lines were whose, and the curtains opened.
Great hilarity resulted, not only from Shakespeare's original wit but also from the years of history we have with such lines as "Thanks, courteous wall!" and "I spy a voice! Now will I to the chink to see if I can hear my Thisby's face!" and "With bloody blameful blade he bravely broached his boiling bloody breast." After the award-winning performance, we settled around the fire for more thoughtful activity.
Dad pulled out our Christmas Gift to Jesus envelopes and we all spent a little time reviewing what we had written in past years and thinking about what we might want to write this year -- a goal, a sacrifice, a particular act of obedience to concentrate on in the year ahead. Some shared what they had written, and then we had a prayer time. The personal, affectionate prayers of my family are a shining treasure to me, and when Dad proposed that we sing "Great is Thy Faithfulness" after the last amen, I had no trouble singing with all of my heart.
The new year was not far away. We dished up large bowls of pink peppermint ice cream that Aaron had churned earlier, and then had together time in the living room. We were all getting sleepy, but everyone made it until we circled up to sing the doxology, our midnight hurrah. Then we scurried off to our beds. Almost every bed in the house was full, and so was my heart as I climbed under my own covers for my last night at home before returning to Berlin.
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