My Christmas Memories

By Ami Martens~

The Tree

In my eyes, Christmas just isn’t Christmas without a hideous tree somewhere in the house. Although decorating the tree wasn’t my favourite pasttime, it was always hilarious remembering the hodgepodge of so called "decorations" we created through the years. We would laugh over each item, how ugly it was, what prompted us to create such a thing, how mom could have let us make something so horrific, etc. By the end, the tree was glittering with the painted wooden stockings, doilies on hooks, crocheted figures, baked clay ornaments, painted ceramics, paper cut-outs with the worst school photo possible, and Faye’s infamous two headed snowman. And if that wasn’t bad enough, we would plaster it from top to bottom with silvery strings of tinsel (which by the way, cats cannot digest; they come out looking exactly as they did when they went in). Dad’s job was stringing the colourful lights on the tree, organized in no particular fashion except to ensure no two adjacent colours were identical. He thought it would be cool to put ancient reflectors behind the bulbs (fortunately mom accidentally "lost" them). As uncool as the reflector idea was, we always defended his love of the star on top, while mom fought for her angel. We let her have an angel every other year. That was the place we gathered each year, around our memories, tainted and marred, where we remembered the perfect love of the Father manifested in our love of each other. Everything we bring to God is an ugly handmade Christmas ornament, but He cherishes all that we are and lovingly displays our artwork, just like that mismatched tree we grew up with.

The Treats

Each year at Christmas, only once a year, Dad made his famous poppycock. Every year he would hum and haw with, "Should I make it this year? Maybe not..." And so the protesting would start against the thought of a poppycock-less Christmas. It was and still is my absolute favourite Christmas treat. Not only was the poppycock itself absolutely fabulous, but the time I spent with my Dad as he created this work of art was incredibly precious to me. Peering up on my tippy toes, I would watch him mix the caramel over the stove, as he closely watched the thermometer. His meticulous way of stirring the pot was consistently perfect - exactly like Grandma (he’s cringing right now at the unmanly compliment). Even still I try to imitate the gentle, careful stirring motions in exactly the same way to create the perfect texture and consistency in hopes I can carry on the tradition (I’ve got good odds; I’ve got the girly version of Dad’s hands). Dad and I together would finish the process by mixing the peanuts, popcorn and caramel; he poured while I mixed. Then onto the cookie sheets the poppycock would go, and out the back door to chill in the winter air. Looking back on these times, these were some of the moments I felt like I was the most important person in the world to my Dad. I felt so proud to be his daughter, so cherished, so purposeful, and so loved. I think God is the same way; He invites us to be a part of His ministry on this earth. It’s not some task we’ve been assigned, it’s a wonderful event filled with tender love.

The Stockings

My mom has blessed us year after year with the tradition of Christmas stockings. She often mentions that when she was growing up all she got in her stocking was one comb and one "feeling" present (an oddly shaped present that she was allowed to touch and feel before Christmas Day). This fuelled her desire to always cram our stockings FULL—and I mean FULL—to the brim each year. Dad’s stocking was so long it hung from the mantle to the floor and she always managed to stuff it full, stretching it even further for the next year. She continued Gran’s tradition of a ‘feeling’ present which we always look forward to. But to complicate things, mom is determined to ensure total fairness: she implemented "pile measurement" to ensure the size and cost of each pile was even. Sometimes our stocking stashes spilled out onto the mantle above as a result. The creative and thoughtful things she finds to put in the stockings never cease to amaze me; much less that she does everything completely new and different each year. My mom has passed on to me a desire to also find those tiny, perfect gifts that suit each person flawlessly. Even at age 6 I wanted to give my family the perfect gift: I carefully wrapped a small, completely empty tea box and wrote on it "To Mom, Dad, and Faye, From Ami." In my little mind and heart, this was the BEST gift I could have ever given; a box of love. Sure they laughed and teased, but seeing as they still have the ‘Box of Love’ I now know they understood the heart of that little girl. It was the heart of the Father, the purpose of Christmas; it was a reflection of the great and unconditional love from my heavenly Father, and the deep love for my family. I will always love finding the perfect gift and stuffing stockings to the brim and most of all I will never be ashamed to give someone the greatest gift of all, a box of love.