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By Barbara Stanley
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The snow was falling, the tree was decorated (for the third time) with the ornaments that were left (after the kitten, after placing it by the breezeway door-a first and a last) and we settled in after coming home from church, in comfy clothes and drinking the traditional glass of eggnog.
Mom and Dad sang the Hymns in church and the popular songs in the car ride home as we joined in and checked out all the beautiful decorations at homes along the route. There was one home that will ever stick out in my mind: a long, snow covered lawn and a sweet little cottage decked out with a wreath on the door and beautiful blue lights above on the roof line that gave a scene any Christmas card would envy to this day. Sweet, simple, special and sacred. "For unto us this day a child is born"… hallelujah!
Those Christmas eves are burned into my memory. Those simple nights filled with the joy of Jesus, this celebration was without doubt a religious one and it gave meaning to our dark winter days and all the days that would follow. We dwelt in peace and harmony and thanked God for giving His only begotten Son to bring light into a dark world. Of the memorable eves that stick out in my mind, the simplest of gifts (a jar of pickles as big as the child I was then and a box filled with old feathered hats bought at the local country auction for two bits) linger still and return with a fervor every time I hear Christmas carols to this day, many years later.
On Christmas day, we would drive to my relatives, fight our way through a room filled with gaily wrapped presents to gaze upon a silver tree adorned with shiny pink Christmas tree balls and long for the scent of Blue Spruce Pine which waited at home. Let's face it: Christmas was a special day to both children and adults when tradition mattered, when tradition was the glue that held the regular days together.
My parents' are dead now and I can only wonder what they would think at the way things have turned out now, with Christ banned in grammar school Christmas pageants, with crèches disallowed in the town square and shopping and sales taking the place of a few simple homemade gifts or frugally purchased delights.
In NYC last year, (I think it was Mother's Day) two homosexual parents objected to their son making a card in school, so what happened? You guessed it: Mother's day cards were forbidden. Thank you Dad & Dad.
At schoolrooms and graduation ceremonies, the only way the word God can be used is if the Valedictorian sneezes at the lectern while making their speech to those newly graduated.
And just this week, one single music teacher thought it best if he took the word Christmas out of the song the tots were practicing and replaced it with "wintertime". Excuse me? Are we celebrating the cold season or the single-most discussed birth of the ages? And since when does one person's feelings matter more than the reported supermajority (well over 90%)?
But try as some Scrooges might, to ban something is to make it more popular and these moronic deletions only make the majority turn more to their roots, their tradition, their salvation. Especially in this time of lying, sniping, idiot candidates attacking and savaging each other, of upstagings and machinations, of lying and dissembling, of "no, I will not run" meaning 'yes, I will', more than ever the rock-solid faith of our fathers will be the bedrock upon which we build our traditional lives.
So, for all of you who send me nasty letters, GOD, GOD, GOD, JESUS, JESUS, JESUS and for all who email kudos, CHRIST IS BORN and we all celebrate it every day. May He make His Light to shine upon you and give you peace.
© 2003 Barbara Stanley All Rights Reserved
About The Author
Award-winning writer and Federal Observer contributor Barbara Stanley is a conservative writer of commentary on a broad range of subjects and a Sentry Editorial Excellence Award-winning journalist residing in the upstate forest of New York. In addition to political and social commentary, Barbara writes fictional short stories at her website.