What is it about Christmas preparations that create such divided feelings? For some, it is (to borrow a cliche) the most wonderful time of the year. For others it is a chore that produces anxiety and depression. Perhaps Christmas magic as an ideal is hard to achieve, but Christmas magic as a simple daily experience is possible. What does that mean, you ask? For me Christmas decoration is a ritual, an act of remembrance, an important connection to my past and an act of love in the present.

My husband helps me bring all the boxes out of storage as I begin to unpack. I take my time unwrapping the decorations. He grumbles that we have too many things. I smile. He asks where we are going to put all the things. I smile. He says we will need to build a new storage shed at this rate. I smile. Each crate holds the ghost of Christmas past, and each year we get to become reaquainted. To him it is a box of junk….at least at first glance. To me, it is family treasure that has been buried and just needs to be rediscovered.

I like the Christmas trees best. At present we have four in the house. The original tree holds the ornaments from our early marriage and travel. I buy one special ornament a year to mark our years together. At some point, I began to buy the annual tree decoration while on our travels together. At the top of the tree is a hallmark ornament that says, “Our first Christmas together.” I smile when I unwrap it. It is the first ornament that goes on the tree, always at the top. There is the silver rattle that announces our son’s first year and the gold filagree baby carriage that was purchased for our daughter’s birth. Among the branches, there is also a surfing Santa from Hawaii, a window peeping elf from Iceland, an evil eye charm from Athens, and an Irish Santa. Every unwrapping is a gift of memory, as I remove the tissue and find the spot to hang the trinket.

A less formal tree … full of family togetherness, sits in the sun room. There are stuffed dogs and ornaments purchased at McDonald’s. There is a set of cardboard cut outs from Alice in Wonderland and a set of pre-school creations. Every item on the tree reminds me of time spent with the children and their excitement at the smallest of Christmas adventures. Dinosaurs and ballerina shoes. Teddy Bears sewn by my mother. Ornaments painted by aunts given in love.

The family room is home to the friendship tree. It is full of sports memorabilia and ornaments given by students and colleagues. There are several “world’s best teacher” ornaments etched in gold, and a strange handmade ornament in the shape of a lightbulb holding a photo of my husband in his classroom. The tree also hosts ornaments that have enormous sentimental value, but aren’t much to look at. A tweety bird from my aunt who died of cancer is now almost featherless. A cardinal from my maternal grandmother’s tree has chips and dings. Jingle bells with foil ribbons and fading felt stockings from my paternal grandmother’s tree have seen better days. I am sure that each year may be their last, but they endure. Each new sign of decay somehow makes them more precious. Christmas magic.

In our bedroom, a small tree sits on a base that is ceramic representation of Bethlehem. The city scene centers on the nativity. There are dozens of ceramic figures going about their daily lives without seeming to notice the figures in the manger. People drawing water, fishing, tending crops and livestock. The tree itself is full of ceramic angels, proclaiming peace and joy. The tree also plays a haunting violin solo, “Silent night” at the push of the button. It is not a tree I would ever buy, even if it does have a collectible certificate of authenticity. It belonged to my uncle, who gave it to my mother and now somehow, it belongs to me. I sometimes look at that tree before I go to bed and wonder if, like to people in the diorama, I would have been so busy that I would have missed the world’s greatest gift. I wonder if that is true of me now. That in the rush to get things done, I miss the many blessings set before me. I pray to be more present and thankful.

And so, I love Christmas, because it is the one time of year that I force myself to slow down and remember. I revel in it. I sit in my living room and I remember the trip to Yellowstone when I see a silver bear on the tree. I see a liberty bell and I remember the smiles on the kids faces as they talked with “Ben Franklin” in Philadelphia. I look at the Christmas village on the mantel and remember my grandma and grandpa’s Christmas village that they named “Marquand” after a nearby village. I see the nutcrackers and remember our son, excited to add each to his collection. This year, I incorporated some glassware from our daughter’s wedding. I look at the glass vases and I remember that happiest of days and our wonderful new son-in-law.

I suppose that some people may rush out to buy the most elaborate decorations and that Christmas is a financial strain on many. But in this house, I rarely buy any decoration (other than the annual ornament). I prefer the decades old candle holders handed down through generations. I delight in the white ceramic nativity set, given as a first Christmas gift by my in-laws. I faithfully hang the ornaments made with toilet paper tubes and dime store string. I happily accept hand me down decor. Because Christmas to me is about family. I am not sad, when I see the frayed items left by loved ones who are no longer here to celebrate with me. I am not discouraged that our children are grown and flown. Instead, I smile as enter each room. Every corner of the house confirms their presence and influence in my life. I am surrounded by visible reminders of love. I turn on the lights and deliberately take time to remember. My husband described it as being wrapped in a “Christmas hug”. He is not wrong, it is a tangible feeling of belonging. Whispers of love.