Home for Christmas

Last week I shared a few thoughts on the vital importance of the books that we select to read aloud to children.  Today I’d like to reflect a little on how being read to was a key way that we got through a difficult transition, and became stronger as a family.  

Regular readers of this blog know that Mom’s recordkeeping from back in our homeschooling days was pretty meticulous.  I don’t think the list above is exhaustive, but it is representative of the kinds of books Mom wanted us to experience in an audio format.  While we were reading a lot on our own, listening to Mom read us stories was different and special – it gave us a shared experience with her and with each other that formed memories and references that we share. 

I got to thinking about all of this because of an entry on the second page for December 1990 – The Best Christmas Pageant Ever.  Just in case you decide to check it out — let me be clear, this book is not Great Literature.  It’s a silly but moving little tale about generosity of spirit and the True Meaning of Christmas.  Yet its warm and genuinely funny observations about how self-righteous we can all be made it an instant classic in the Davis household.

1990 was a memorable year for us.  In November, we moved to central Texas from central Florida, and Mom and Dad were doing their best to help us with the transition by creating “new traditions” for us as a family.  Not being close to grandparents, aunts, and uncles was tough on all of us.  We felt (and were) very far away from home.

Mom read the book in installments, beginning on the first Sunday of Advent.  Dad did the Scripture readings and let us light the candles on the Advent wreath.  (The evangelical churches we attended growing up didn’t emphasize these rituals, so Dad shared the tradition with us at home).

At the risk of sounding a little sacrilegious, Mom’s readings from TBCPE kind of stole the show.  What made it so great was that from the moment she started reading the memorable opening paragraph to the end, she was always (unsuccessfully) trying to suppress laughter:

“The Herdmans were absolutely the worst kids in the history of the world.  They lied and stole and smoked cigars (even the girls) and talked dirty and hit little kids and cussed their teachers and took the name of the Lord in vain and set fire to Fred Shoemaker’s old broken-down toolhouse”

Laughing together as a family is one of the things that made that season so special.  We could have read the book individually and silently on our own, and it would never have stuck in our collective memory the way that it did when Mom read it to us.  

Culture thrives by means of shared rituals — sacred and secular.  Mom and Dad helped all of us put down new roots in a new home by giving us meaningful and memorable stories.  There was a kind of perfect balance of solemnity and mirthfulness that our Advent Sundays embodied.  You know, a little lesson in the Incarnation itself.

As Gladys Herdman reminds us, “Hey!  Unto you a child is born!”

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