THE
LORD'S POET
CHRISTMAS MEMORIES: 
SHARE MINE-------------FIND YOURS 
LINDA
I
had a dear friend years ago. We were very close, but we had a problem,
of sorts: it seemed as if each year, no matter what gift I made her
for Christmas, she bought me a gift that was similar. The year I made candies,
she gave me a Whitman Sampler; when I made cookies, she gave me cookies
from the local bakery; I made her a set of glasses from soda bottles the
year she bought me a set of glasses. Another year we exchanged homemade
cookies. We only had those four Christmases as she's gone now, but I wonder
how many Christmases would have passed before we hit one with dissimilar
gifts!
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BOBBY
During
my junior and senior years of high school, my very best friend was a boy
(?!) named Bobby. We were very close, sharing the pain and sorrow
as easily as the joys, hopes and our dreams. One day, Bobby saved my life
just by being my friend (that's a long story and not such a good memory,
but he DID save me from death one summer night).
Bobby
was an artist. He did lovely sketches. He was also from a single parent
family, so there was seldom finances for proper art supplies. My senior
year I had a small excess of funds near Christmas. With the help of an
art teacher at school, I purchased a sketch pad and proper tools for Bobby
for Christmas. He was so touched by my consideration that he gave me a
locket for Christmas. But it wasn't just any locket, this locket had been
given to him by his grandmother to be given to his first girlfriend. I
knew about the locket (that was one of the secrets we'd shared). I was
deeply touched by his sacrifice, especially since I knew who he'd been
saving it for (another secret shared). That locket has remained my most
treasured possession and is a constant reminder of Bobby's friendship and
God's abiding love for me.
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CHRISTMAS,
1985
Since
the age of 15, I have made most of the gifts I give at Christmas. This
practice started because there were 33 children and their parents on my
shopping list that year. Even with all those hours of baby-sitting,
there just was not enough cash to buy so many presents. This practice became
a habit because my gift list always exceeded my financial liquidity at
Christmas.
Though
homemade gifts are now a part of my personal Christmas tradition, for many
years I dreamed of being able to buy all my gifts. 1985 was the year this
dream was realized. I was working at a good job and living with my mother.
This combination made for an actual cash surplus by mid-October. I checked
my budget, set aside the amount I could spend. Then I proceeded to draw
up the list of recipients for that year. With money (and list) in hand,
I began to search for the perfect gift for each person. As usual, I found
some marvelous bargains on some of the gifts (like getting pewter ornaments
for fifteen co-workers for ten cents each!). About December 10 I finally
crossed the last name off my list. I had all my gifts plus cards and wrapping
paper. I'd even bought some gifts for myself! Checking the total spent,
I was surprised to find I had not only fulfilled my dream but I had performed
what everyone said was impossible: I had run out of list before I
ran out of money!
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CHRISTMAS,
1990
Due
to financial difficulties in 1990, I decided to bake and sell my cookies
at Christmas. I received many orders. I laid in the necessary supplies
and began to bake on Thanksgiving. My total baking that year was about
150 dozen cookies. That's nearly two thousand cookies! So what did I receive
from my secret prayer partner? Right! Homemade cookies! The folks at church
hoped I would give them all away since I'd been overwhelmed by cookies,
but did I? NO!! Oh, I shared a few, but most I ate myself. After all, I'd
made two thousand cookies and had not been able to eat even one because
they'd been baked to order. That was punishment for a crime not committed!
I think a little selfishness was justified that year!
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WINDOWS
TO CHRISTMAS
As
Christmas comes
I
see vignettes
Of
memories
I
won't forget.
So
many scenes
Now
framed in time
Of
windows to
Past
Christmas, mine;
Also
of scenes
That
have not come
Of
Christmases
That
will be fun
As
I look through
To
a future time,
Of
memories
That
will be mine.
Kathi Phillips
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