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“A Christmas Eve Memory”
My friend Jeanne Phillips remembers it as clearly as if it happened only yesterday. It happened a long time ago in an era that now lives in the lovely mist of memory. Those of us, who are old enough, can still smell the aromas and hear the music of such a time. For Jeanne, this particular Christmas Eve was during her childhood in Wilmington, North Carolina. The family was gathered with their friends at the little Winter Park Methodist Church for the annual Yuletide pageant. The fire was roaring in the stove in the center of the sanctuary. All eyes were focused on the little drama repeated each year on Christmas Eve--the Nativity Play.
Jeanne and her whole family were there, including her three young brothers. The time came in the program when the offering was received. There was a little wooden model of a church sitting on the altar table. It had a coin slot in the top. It was the receptacle where the children would put their Christmas offerings. While the congregation sang “Jingle Bells,” the children marched by and dropped their coins into the little church. Each coin would jingle a little bell inside the box. Jeanne remembers that, on this particular Christmas Eve, her little brothers, Harry, Jimmy and Bobby did not drop coins into the offering. Instead, they had raided their mother's button box before going to church that night. So they each dropped in a button.
When the offering march had ended, the suspicious minister discovered the buttons among the coins. Hoping to teach a lesson, he addressed the little congregation: “If those who placed the buttons in the collection will come forward, I will give them each their button back and a nickel as well.” This was long enough ago that five cents represented real money. So, three contrite lads came forward to get their button and receive their nickel. Jimmy dropped his nickel into the little church and jingled the bell. Then Harry rang the bell with his nickel. Bobby slipped his nickel and button into his pocket and returned to his pew. After the service was ended, observers of the small drama asked Bobby why he did not put his nickel in the offering. He replied, “I'm going to buy a Pepsi with my money!”
I love that charming Christmas memory. It reminds me of my own, similar, childhood Christmas Eve experiences. I once had the role of the donkey in the Nativity stable scene. I always wished I could play the role of the Wise Man. Ours was such a small church that we didn't have enough people to have three magi. We understood and made do with one. I always thought it would be neat to wear the fake grey beard the Wise Man got to wear.
Our evening always ended with the long-expected surprise arrival of Santa. Our minister would announce: “Let us now stand and sing “Here Comes Santa Claus.” Then the door would swing open and, as if by magic, old St. Nicklaus would appear. His nose looked suspiciously like my uncle's nose. And his “Ho, ho, ho!” sounded vaguely familiar. He always brought a bag full of stuffed, little, brown, paper sacks. Everyone, adults and children alike, received a sack with an apple, an orange, three walnuts, and a red and white candy cane. We laughed and sang until each person had their treat in hand. Then we bundled up and plunged into the cold night toward home for a few more hours of dreamy anticipation. All seemed well with the world in our childlike dreams. Even as I write this, my eyes are pumping sentimental tears.
Now, back to where we began. Jeanne Phillips' brother, Robert Craft--little Bobby--has grown up and reached the autumn of his life. He is very ill this Christmas. Say a prayer for him. And say a prayer for all the children of all ages in the whole world. My prayer is that all of you will be touched by Christmas wonder and have enough for a Pepsi too!
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