Safe, Warm, and Surrounded by Love.

Image Copyright © 2015

by Ralph F. Couey

"Christmases past tend to blur together,

with occasional memorable moments making themselves visible.

There were good Christmases and lonely Christmases

and Christmases that came and went entirely too fast.

But when I look back over the years, and all those memories,

there is one image that rises above all the rest.

Seated before the tree, my loving wife beside me

two posts in a protective circle of our grown children and their spouses

surrounding a herd of excited grandkids on the floor, tearing open gifts

with excited squeals of joy. seeming to swim through a sea of discarded wrapping paper.

For me, this will always be Christmas, because Christmas is about family

sharing that most precious of time, and the rarest and most durable love."

--Ralph F. Couey

 I've been idle with my writing of late, mainly because I've been in a kind of funk and I really didn't want to share that with all of you.  But as Christmas approaches, I have found myself looking back over the decades, to those more conventional holidays in simpler times.  In those journeys of the mind, I have found a way to rekindle that sometimes elusive thing we call the Spirit of Christmas.  I found it was far too easy to focus on the tough times that are now, and thus opening myself up to sadness and despair.  But in the past were better, happier times.  These were memories made and carefully stored away in that priceless treasure chest we call the human heart for just such a time as this one.

One of my earliest Christmas memories involved the arrival of a small dachshund who would be a part of our lives.  I suspect he may have been a little frightened by the hugs he was getting from my sister and I, but we grew up together, the best kind of companion.

One winter, my parents decided to go north for Christmas.  They both hailed from Wisconsin, he from Milwaukee, she from Madison.  Weather forecasting was still a struggling science at the time, and by the time we hit Moline, Illinois, the snow was coming down thick and fast.  I remember looking over my Dad's shoulders (no seat belts or child seats back then) out the front window to see that the road was rapidly disappearing.  Fortunately, we were in a long line of cars, so we continued to push on.  I became mesmerized by the huge snowflakes dancing in the headlights.  I wasn't driving, so of course I thought it was great.  Eventually, we arrived in front of that grand old house on Erie Court.  We piled out of the car and I rushed through the unshoveled snow up the front walk into the arms of my grandmother, and my six cousins, with whom I would subsequently join in many nefarious activities.  We sledded in the nearby parks, built snowmen, had snowball fights, while my grandmother, who had been the head chef for the University of Wisconsin, prepared some of the best meals I can ever remember.  We played until we couldn't keep our eyes open, then ascended the interminable stairs to the large dormitory-style attic where we retired for the night.  I felt safe, warm, and surrounded by love.

White Christmases in Missouri have always been a hit-or-miss affair, and I can remember many Christmas mornings rushing to the front window, hoping for snow, but instead finding just brown grass and leafless trees.  Nevertheless, we opened presents, ate delicious meals, and I spent the balance of the day playing with my new toys.  An unsophisticated child, I could have a good time with just about anything.  A child at Christmas is the purest kind of innocent joy. Unburdened by the responsibilities of my parents, who carefully shielded us from what I discovered later to have been some difficult years.  We never felt like we lacked for anything, so well were we cared for.  And on those Christmas nights, I wriggled into my bed, feeling safe, warm, and surrounded by love.

I don't have too many reliable memories of Christmas in my teen years, except that I wrapped myself in angst, surrendering to those awful hormones.  I realize now that I was waiting for the joy of the season to come to me, and learning ever so slowly that I was at that point where I had to seek out Christmas.  I was in band, as was my sister, and every year, we had our Christmas concerts, back in that time when you could still sing about Jesus in public school.  I do remember going to church for Christmas Eve, and again Christmas Morning for services.  I don't remember anything about the sermons, but I sure remember singing those beautiful carols.

My first year of college was my first real encounter with homesickness.  Thus, when finals were completed, my parents would come to the school, about two hours from home, pick me up and take me back home for the holidays.  I loved those times more than I think I ever told them, because it was good to be back in that place where I had always felt safe, warm, and surrounded by love.

As I grew older, I became aware that the world was a scary, dangerous place, and emotionally, I longed for that place where I had been protected all those years.  This was the essence of the growing up experience, learning to stand on my own two feet and endure my own consequences.  Cheryl and I were married in 1978, and as a new family, began to develop traditions of our own.  Of course, as a young couple, with our first child arriving 14 months later, we were poor, could barely pay attention.  But this is the gauntlet every young couple should pass.  It makes the better years that much sweeter.  We did Christmas as a family, making the trek to my parent's house for food and fun, and an afternoon with my dog, who was still very jealous of Cheryl.  I don't think they ever really got along.

The years passed, and with the arrival of the rest of our brood, Christmas was always fun.  I could see now how much they treasured the holiday, for they now in a place where they felt safe, warm, and surrounded by love.  

I joined the Navy in 1980, there being no jobs of any consequence at the time.  Thus began a nomadic time in our lives.  After my basic schooling, I accepted an assignment to a ship in Pearl Harbor.  Cheryl was ecstatic.  She was going home.  We were there for about five years, myself becoming acquainted with Christmas in shorts and t-shirts.  Cheryl's family loved to gather for any reason, and especially Christmas.  Everybody brought food, and while there was the obligatory turkey, there were also a host of Japanese and Polynesian dishes, all of which I was tasting for the first time.  We had a lot of fun together, even though I never got the hang of the Japanese card game Hanafuda.  

In 1985, the Navy moved us to Long Beach, California, and really for the first time we were in a place completely away from either family.  Some Christmases, we made the long trek to Missouri, other times we boarded the space available Air Force transports for Hawai'i.  In between, we partied on Christmas Day at either Disneyland or Knott's Berry Farm, the kids having the time of their lives.  One year, jonesing for some snow, we drove up to Big Bear, found a pile of snow alongside the road and had an impromptu snowball fight.  Boy, that was fun!  

After the Navy, we moved to Columbia, Missouri, where we would put down some semblance of roots.  For fourteen years, we raised our kids through high school, and one by one, watched them spread their wings.  Our Christmases were happy times, and I especially remember sitting in front of the tree on Christmas Eve and reading those beautiful passages from the Book of Luke.  We were together, we were happy, we were family.

We parted ways along about that time, me taking my dream job as an Intelligence Analyst, and Cheryl and I moving to Pennsylvania.  It was a beautiful place in winter, the snow falling in huge flakes, like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.  We had several Christmases in that beautiful old house on Church Street with our kids and grandkids, and we always had a white Christmas for them.  During that time, we would drive over to a nearby ski resort, where we would watch them ski.  I'll never forget the first time our granddaughter Diana took to skis.  She was born to it, and a graceful sight she was gliding down the mountain.

We've had other Christmases, other years.  Once in a great while, we can all gather in one place.  Last year, everybody came to Hawai'i, and we spent two terrific weeks together, doing all the things people usually come here to do.  There was a kind of pathos for me, knowing that these opportunities will be even rarer going forward.  The memories of that holiday weigh especially on my heart this year with the enforced separation.  

You see, all those years, I was in a place where I felt safe, warm, and surrounded by love.  As hard as it is to reclaim that this year, I know I have to try.  The birth of Jesus signified hope for the world, and those bruised and broken-hearted who inhabit it.  As I thought about it, I think that was the key:  Hope.  Hope means the future is not unknown, not a dark mist-shrouded path.  Hope means that things will get better. I owe to to my family, myself, and especially Christ to find my hope.  And my peace.