I remember that Christmas Eve. 

 

I think it was 1953. I was 7.

 

We four Meyer kids piled into the family’s 1950 Blue and Black Dodge half-ton pickup and headed off from our Guernsey farm a mile west on Hwy. 23 to Oak Park to church - once Mom got in.

 

A half-ton pickup isn’t the perfect choice for a growing family of six. But we were on our best behavior that night . . . 

 

Following the Christmas program at Gethsemane Lutheran Church would be our return home . . . 

 

And after reading the second chapter of Luke, we could dive into our Christmas presents; Mom keeping order, however, allowing only one gift to be opened at a time so we could all enjoy each other’s holiday fortune.

 

Back to the ride to the church in our half-ton pickup truck.

 

Mom always seemed to be late getting into the truck after we four kids were jammed in there, Dad keeping control on behavior.

 

Just as she slid onto the seat and leaned our way so she could pull the door closed, my brother, Chuck, kinda kicked me.

 

 “Do you know why Mom is always the last to get into the truck?” he whispered.

 

I looked at him, dumbfounded. Why would he ask a question like that? 

 

Off to church we went. At Gethesemane, the Story of Jesus was shared in scripture and song. The older Sunday school kids got to play the parts of the Nativity scene. My favorite moment was as the service came to a close, there was one final hymn, which Mom perfectly accompanied at the old pump organ.

 

Oh Holy Night resonated from wall to wall and from floor to ceiling and I thought the church walls would life off its foundation from the voices of the “hundreds” there. The attendance was probably 90, because I counted the seats some years later. But they packed the place and it was blissful to the ears of a seven-year-old farm boy from Oak Park.

 

There were so many sounds to Gethesemane that night.

 

And, Oh Holy Night  was truly joyful.

 

There was a treat for all following the program. All the kids got a bag of candy - quite a bit of it the old ribbon candy, popular in the day, plus chocolate kisses.

(And a bag of peanuts, in the shell.)

 

And a beautiful, red, juicy Delicious apple for all. They came in boxes from Larson’s General Store (or Olson’s General Store) and some from the congregation were busy handing them out.

 

And of course when the Story was told, the music had filtered into the winter night, the goodies secured, we bundled back into the Dodge  for the trip back to our Guernsey farm.

 

And then we raced into the house - never locked in those days.

 

Coats were thrown to the floor, but quickly picked up to Mom’s chiding and hung on their respective hooks.

 

Then, came the reading of Luke, and gifts from each other, from Mom and Dad . . . and curiously. . . 

 

Santa had arrived.

 

There are those among us who won’t share in the joy of the holidays. Think of them. 

 

Look into your wallet or purse and if there are some funds left before your shopping is done, journey to your favorite church.

 

Put the money into an envelope and gift it to the church so they can make a family or two happy for the holidays. You know, so Santa can visit their house.

 

It will help make your Christmas the best ever because you will be the one telling the Story.

 

Merry Christmas.