By DiAnn Mills @DiAnnMills
Tweet this: Christmas Through the Eyes of a Wee Child
Christmas makes children out of all of us. Actually, writers are kids who failed to get the memo that it was time to color between the lines. We play and worship during this season with the same enthusiasm as a child.
I remember the Christmas I was three years old. The vivid accounting could not possibly be true—or could it?
As a lively three-year-old, I often woke during the night for a drink of orange juice. My parents soon learned to keep a small glass in the refrigerator.
On Christmas Eve, I woke to make the trek to the refrigerator for my OJ. The lights from the tree lit a pathway across the living room to the kitchen causing the darkness not to be so ominous. I remembered Santa was coming and quickly drank my juice then set the empty glass back inside the fridge.
Who is this magical man who flies across the sky?
On the way to my snug and warm bed, I passed by the Christmas tree. Oh, how I loved the twinkling lights, mesmerized by their quiet beauty. Still do. They remind me of the star that guided the wise men to the baby Jesus. I paused in front of a large window to gaze up at the starlit sky. To my amazement, Santa in his red and gold sleigh led by eight reindeer flew high above me.
My little heart pounded, and I raced back to bed for fear Santa would stop at my house and find me awake. The next morning, I scrambled from my bed to make sure he’d brought my toys. To my joy, the toys I’d dreamed about were under the tree.
A child’s imagination for a future writer? Or a magical happening to a wee child?
This Christmas explore the season filled with wonder. Take time to journal what this special day means to you. Perhaps it will be a birth of renewed commitment to God and the special gift He’s given you.
Do you have a Christmas story that is dear to you? Would you share it with us?
Tweet this: Christmas Through the Eyes of a Wee Child
Comments 12
For years my hubby played Santa for the nephews and even though the oldest figured out it was Uncle Mitch, they looked forward to it each year. Finally, the suit gave out and the kids were adults, but the memories of the looks on their faces were priceless!
PS Thanks so much for the Christmas present–almost finished with the book and then will send it on to my one nephew who is now a minister.
One of my uncles would call us and pretend to be Samta Claus.He would tell us to get to bed soon because he was coming!
Hi Martha – and it worked too!
My favorite memory was when my father played Santa at the company Christmas party…by nature, he was a shy man but truly enjoyed himself and showed his children a side of him we’d never known.
Your story is a heart warmer. I do not have the same memories. In my home, we had a
resident: alcoholism. He abducted my father, and reduced his senses to lack of awareness. Yet, I recall, several Christmases when my mother was able get enough money to buy pretty material to make my sisters and I, new eye- twinkling dresses.
There were no other gifts, no toys. But to receive a new dress my mother made, overshadowed the saddest situations, kept Christmas from dying, and helped to rivet in my heart, and sustain the significance of Christmas that Jesus came to bring my sisters and I the gift of eternal life.
Frances,
The gift of Christmas lives in our hearts and in dear memories. Have a Merry Christmas, my friend.
Hi Kathleen, sweet memories. We introverts can show our love for others in ways that surprise even our closest family members.
Have a beautiful Christmas.
Love this story!
I have always loved Christmas and presents. As a child, I was torn between wanting a really big present and wanting lots of presents. I knew if I received a large present, it would probably be the only thing I received. One year, I particularly agonized over it. On Christmas morning, there was a big box under the tree, wrapped up with my name on it. When I opened it, there were a bunch of smaller presents, all individually wrapped. I was so excited!
Only years later as a mom, have I truly realized and fully appreciated the true gift my mom gave me. I was the youngest of four children, and the image of the time and effort it must have taken her to do that for me still warms my heart. Only a loving mom would do that!
Hi Linda, oh, the treasures we have when we’re blessed with loving parents. Thank you for sharing and for your friendship!
As a military child during the cold-war years, I grew up mostly overseas. On Christmas Eve, I would listen to NORAD scramble jets to investigate a strange object flying nearby.
I remember, every year, freaking out because they were going to shoot down Santa Claus. This memory makes me smile. So glad Jesus is invincible to man’s schemes. Merry Christmas!
Hi Sherry, Poor child to fear jets might shoot down Santa. Still a sweet memory. Have a wonderful Christmas!