A week before Christmas, I fell ill with a sore throat, and although I had recovered well, and was back on my feet on Christmas Eve, it was quite impossible for me to go to church that evening. You can only imagine how I felt inside. And on top of that, the worst Manitoba blizzard had arrived, and it grew worse as the day progressed.

We lived quite a distance from the church, and since there were no buses or available transportation, we had to walk back and forth all the way, straight into the north wind, and we had to wade through snowdrifts that were now taller than me. So I had to stay home, even though it hurt me terribly. What a disappointment!

My mother and father reassured me by showing me that since the whole Christian world was celebrating the Nativity, Christmas could be celebrated at home as well as in church. And His presence would be just as certain in our home as in any other place where Christians were celebrating Christmas. Moreover, they pointed out to me that the previous year we had celebrated Christmas at home in North Dakota, and I had never heard of any other celebration than the one I was accustomed to. God willing, I would go to church next Christmas Eve. Now I had a whole year to look forward to it. I should forget my disappointment and be cheerful, for Christmas was not a time of sorrow and unhappiness, but of joy and celebration.

The food that evening was more elaborate than usual. – Everyone was dressed for the occasion, the table was laid out as neatly as possible, and special Christmas dishes were served to commemorate it – sweet soup and cream porridge, among others. It was only then that I noticed that the house, which had been thoroughly cleaned a few days ago – the windows cleaned, the furniture polished, the curtains washed and hung – bore a uniquely festive air. Everything was shiny and bright – yes, Christmassy.

I was gradually becoming content with being home, especially when I noticed the wind blowing and listened to the snow falling against the window. At last, I was convinced that here, at home, we would find comfort and safety on this Christmas Eve.

When dinner was over, we sat down in the living room as usual. – First, we sang Christmas carols, and then Stefán, my brother-in-law, picked up the Bible and began to read the beautiful story of the first Christmas night. I loved every word that fell upon my ears, and my attention grew as he read. I felt sorry for the weary travelers and felt saddened that Mary and Joseph could not find a place to sleep that cold night in Bethlehem. – My sorrow soon turned to joy when I heard of the birth of the child, who was laid in a manger in a stable, which was the only shelter they had that night.

The light that shone from the hills and enveloped the shepherd, the angelic song and the star that guided the wise men to the manger, completely fascinated me. “Glory to God in the highest,” the angels sang that night so long ago, but I felt as if they were singing right next to me and that the light was all around me. Although no one else was aware of this wonder, perhaps, I was quite sure of it and it seemed to me a gloriously beautiful moment. 

After the reading, a prayer was read and then more Christmas carols were sung. I did not just sing in my childish voice, but sang with all my heart. Because it was Christmas Eve, I did not have to go to bed early and could sit and listen to the adults talking until the refreshments were served. I enjoyed drinking chocolate and eating cakes and other sweets that I thought were so delicious. – When everyone had wished each other a Merry Christmas, they went to bed.

On Christmas Day, the weather was bad and I suppose the air was heavy and dull, but the joy I received on Christmas Eve was still with me, and I was so happy. Later that day, a special visitor came to visit me, my Sunday school teacher, who brought me a tiny spruce branch, not more than a foot long. But it was decorated with two pink paper roses, and a wide paper ribbon was tied at the bottom. – I had never seen a decorated Christmas tree in my life, and this little branch, the teacher’s Christmas gift, was the culmination of this memorable Christmas celebration. Only yesterday morning, Christmas seemed to promise nothing but disappointment and even tears. I played with this spruce branch for many days. I put it on the table, and there it remained until it was empty and bare, the roses faded and wilted. – That twig had done its good work well.

Christmas presents in those days that are now long gone were mostly new clothes and perhaps one or two toys. – Although this Christmas, if I remember correctly, I received no toys at all, it remains, in my mind, the brightest light I have in the helmet of memories.

 

When I finally admitted to myself that my spruce branch had become a skeleton, and its magic had disappeared, the next Christmas seemed a long way off – more than eleven months, yes, 48 or 49 weeks – an infinitely long time. But the child gradually accepts the inevitable and as time goes by, each new day brings something new and exciting both at school and at home.

And before I knew it, Christmas was once again right around the corner. We Sunday school children were busy practicing Christmas carols and preparing for the Christmas Eve service.

Christmas Eve dawned clear and beautiful. The snow sparkled like jewels in the sunlight and crunched when you stepped on it. It was a truly magical day. Now I was feeling well and was really looking forward to the evening. As the day went on, the excitement and anticipation grew and, to say the least, I hardly enjoyed it when my mother gave me a taste of the cookies she had baked that morning.

We ate earlier than usual because the church was a long way from us, and we had to walk there and we couldn’t be late, but the time was at seven. I couldn’t stand it. I was ready long before time and could hardly wait for the others. But after that long wait, my mother and sister were finally ready and we went out – out into the Christmas night. The sky was clear and dark blue, the stars twinkled and flashed, and I jumped happily and full of anticipation. I held hands with my mother and sister. I was so excited that I barely noticed that the dishes were touching the snow.

The church was illuminated and indescribably beautiful as we approached it. – Light streamed out of the windows and doors as if to dispel the darkness that the night had cast over the surroundings.

It was an unforgettable sight that awaited me when I entered the church for the first time on Christmas Eve. – In the very centre stood a large and elegant Christmas tree that almost reached the ceiling. How beautiful it was! It was decorated with countless flowers of all colours – pink, red, blue, white and yellow roses. There were also multicoloured paper chains that hung in circles around all the branches, all around, high and low. – At regular intervals, candles were lit – many, many candles. At that time, electricity had not been installed in Winnipeg and Christmas tree decorations did not exist, so the members of the congregation had to make the whole thing. It took many hands and many days of work to prepare the decorations. – But no one noticed, and everyone worked diligently and kindly to make it happen and to make the children, old and young, happy at Christmas.

As soon as we entered, my mother took me out of my outerwear and I went to where my classmates were gathered. I was still in awe of the beauty that surrounded me, and stood completely fascinated by everything I saw. The church was decorated in the same style as the tree. Arches were made of spruce and placed on the walls to the side. The arches were punctuated with multicoloured roses and chains hanging in wreaths. – The ceiling at the front of the church was decorated in the same way. All around the church were candles, placed at even intervals both on the tree and on the walls. Then all the candles were lit – what a glorious sight!

But the Christmas tree was full of everything. Then I noticed that under the tree there was this huge number of toys, all of which had name tags. There were whole boxes of the tin soldiers that the boys were so fond of, stuffed animals, horses, dolls, and much, much more. The dolls! ... all dressed in these fine clothes with curly hair, both blonde and dark-haired, some were like babies, yet all absolutely adorable. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. Should I get one? Oh, how I wanted to have one of those dolls.

Here I want to say that many parishioners stood guard at certain places in the church, holding long wooden poles in their hands. At the top of each pole was a fire extinguisher to put out the candles if necessary. The story goes that only one candle, out of this multitude of candles amidst this flammable material, had to be put out that Christmas Eve.

At a certain time, the organ began to play and immediately the children lined up and the parade began. First came the pastor’s wife, then the youngest children, then the next youngest, and so on, but the oldest came last. We all started singing Christmas carols at once. We walked around the church, up to the ceiling and back up, into the aisle and around the Christmas tree. We sang non-stop. Then we all sat down and sat there quietly and quietly, and then the mass began. First a hymn was sung, the pastor read the lovely Christmas Gospel, and then came a short sermon and prayer. Then everyone stood and sang more hymns, and finally the pastor said a prayer and the words of blessing.

Then the Sunday school leader stepped forward and the Christmas presents began to be handed out. All the children were dead still and hardly dared to breathe. – The joy of hearing their name, raising their hand, walking up the church floor and receiving a Christmas gift. An unforgettable moment. And then, to top it off, each child was given a little bag of candy to take home with them, whether they belonged to the Sunday school or not.

Now we had to get into our coats, show our gifts, and admire the gifts of others while the adults greeted each other and wished each other a blessed holiday and chatted for a little while.

But before we went out, my mother came to check that I was well dressed before we set off. It was still clear and calm; the heavens twinkled like jewels in the dark blue sky and accompanied us all the way home. The Northern Lights danced in their multicoloured beauty and the snow began to fall with a frosty crunch that added to the dance of light. It was as if the sky was welcoming the Christmas child with all its light glory on this holy night. 

The journey home was delightful in every way, but especially because I so rarely got to go out at night. Somehow, I still felt that the journey home was much longer than the way to the church. Suddenly I wanted to get home as quickly as possible. – My legs had become so heavy and I had such difficulty keeping my eyes open. When I got home, I felt a little more lively. – I told Dad everything I remembered, but my eyes were closing gradually, my mouth was gaping, and my face was so tired from talking. Mom brought a small chocolate that was very good. This lovely day was over. I wished everyone a Merry Christmas, went to bed, and fell asleep at once. That was Christmas 1890.

 

Since I came of age, these two long-ago Christmases have often come to my mind.

While my father was alive, he often warned me never to let festivities and entertainment overshadow the sacredness of Christmas. The Christmas Gospel is the essence of Christianity.

I have always thought to myself that the holy Christmas Gospel, which is the true law and so dear and beloved to Christians, might be like a particularly beautiful painting that I have seen in my mind every Christmas since I can remember. But only once, on Christmas Eve so long ago, when a blizzard was raging outside, did this picture become clear and real to me.

The next Christmas I saw the same picture in a beautiful frame, made of song, lights, decorations, and a parade. This frame has become more elaborate and ornate every year since electricity came into use, and glitter and pomp and increased skill have cast a magical glow over the modern Christmas. God grant that we do not worship the frame so much that it blinds us to the holy picture we are enshrining, the importance and significance of the picture, its glory, and the promise of peace on earth and goodwill toward all people. – Trans. SMJ