I know the tradition began earlier, but I associate it with the Carmen Red Oldsmobile station wagon. There was also the Toyota van, but the Oldsmobile days were the magic ones. Over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we would literally go. (Also through the valley, past the waterfalls, over the hill, and along the lake.) Neilan family Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa's house. The house where my mom was raised, where aunts, uncles, and cousins were just a few houses or blocks away. The two story house where on any ordinary day you entered directly into the kitchen, sat at the kitchen table, and just listened to my mom and her parents talk as an assortment of her brothers would inevitably call or stop by.
But on Christmas Eve, the house was already packed to the brim with family, presents, food, and laughter. So much laughter. It was a wonderland as a child to be surrounded by people who loved you and were excited to see you. The house was warm and the large windows in the living room would fog slightly near the edges giving the whole place a comfortable, cozy feel. The tree... that was different. It was a proper Christmas tree but with ornaments and tinsel from a different era. Still, so many presents under that tree. There would be mounds of wrapped boxes and bows even before we unloaded our contribution from the back of the station wagon.
I don't know where we all ate. That dining table sits in my mom's house now. At its largest it couldn't possibly hold all of us plus all of the food. But it wasn't about the food. (OK, it was a lot about the food.) But it wasn't the food that built up days and days of anticipation in me as Christmas approached. So much so that on the morning of Christmas Eve I would practically bounce around the house. THE day had finally arrived and everything great and amazing and magical was just hours away. After the drive. After the dinner.
I don't recall if it was before or after presents were opened. Probably right in the middle. It always came as a surprise. The first of three wonders. Santa Claus would walk through the front door with a jolly "Ho, Ho, Ho!" I don't think he even knocked. He just walked right in and I was in the luckiest place with the luckiest family in the entire world because we had the bonafide actual Santa Claus with us.
Everybody sat on his lap. Even Grandma with her rare smile. We would tell Santa what we wanted, assure him in all solemnity that we had been more than good that year, and wait eagerly for Santa to produce a candy cane from his pocket. Sometimes one of my older cousins would try to be clever and ask for a car or a boyfriend for Christmas. Santa would get a twinkle in his eye and pull a toy car from his pocket or name a neighborhood boy to laughter and great delight from my aunts and uncles who lined the room.
In later years, I started to doubt whether it was the real Santa Claus or just a deputized uncle. But my cousins and I would fan out to see which uncle was missing and none of then were! We had the 100% authentic Santa with us, at least for a while. Because he never stayed for long. He would leave by way of the front door. A chimney would have been preferred if my grandparents had one, but I wan't going to complain this close to Christmas morning. Instead, at the adults' urging, I would run to the living room window that overlooked the yard and the lake where I was assured I would be able to see the reindeer and even Rudolph soaring through the sky. I'm not certain, but I'm pretty sure I saw them once or twice. Like I said, the windows were a bit foggy and winter nights in the Northwest are dark.
Oh, what a thrill! There were other presents, but nothing as exciting as Santa. At some point the novelty of new toys would wane and things would start to quiet down. One of my uncles would have to leave early because he had the overnight shift at the mill. Or the conversation would start to settle into smaller, quieter groups. My parents would make us change into our pajamas for the long ride home as they filled the back of the station wagon with toys and treats and matching shirts from my Grandma that we would wear to next year's Thanksgiving dinner.
The brace of cool, moist air as I walked to the station wagon would wake me from my post-party stupor enough to prepare for the second of the three wonders. Driving past the lake, past the park, and then up the hill, my dad would veer onto a long drive that climbed to a large evergreen tree in someone's front yard. There, at the top of the tree, hundreds of feet in the air, was a giant star every bit as glorious and awe-inspiring as anything the wisemen could have seen. Strings of lights streamed from the star to the base of the tree where sat Mary and Joseph, surrounded by animals, staring into the manger that held the baby Jesus.
Did anyone speak or did we just stare? And wonder? And wish we could stay a few more minutes before my dad quietly pulled back onto the lane, over the hill, past the waterfalls, through the valley, through the woods, over the river, and another, and another. At some point all of the children would fall asleep, but how I tried not to. At least not all the way. Because there was one wonder yet.
How it came to be or how it came to be so meaningful I don't know. It was just a billboard, next to the lumber mill, along the slough where the mill owners would replace the usual message with a picture of three wisemen riding toward a distant star. Maybe it said "Seasons Greetings" or maybe it spoke for itself. But it was beautiful and just seemed to fit perfectly there at the end of the long, late night drive home on Christmas Eve. It was the shortest of all the wonders, but also the one that has cemented the most permanent position in my memory. No other depiction of the wisemen lives up to that perfect portrait.
I might know why if I understood myself better. Maybe it is a matter of being in the right place at the right time. The perfect, peaceful ending to a perfect joyful evening full of family and love.
But part of the miracle of Christmas and of Jesus Christ is that every place is the right place and every time is the right time. Whether new parents in a stable, wisemen separated by years, or my own troubled heart millennia in the future, there is no time or place beyond the reach and love of the Savior Jesus Christ.
“No ear may hear his coming, but in this world of sin, Where meek souls will receive him, still the dear Christ enters in.”
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