South Carolina, Christmas and Family

The last weekend was a quick trip to South Carolina. I won't be with my Mom and brothers for Christmas but I had a couple of days free for a flight to their home.

I can put on five pounds just by walking into my Mom's kitchen. It's the only place in the world where the much-maligned Christmas fruitcake tastes good enough for seconds. The worlds best fudge. Grits and eggs for breakfast. Soup beans on the supper table.

A lot of the trappings of Christmas when I was a child have long gone. Ornaments broken or lost. Decorations that could not withstand the wear of three boys and four grandkids. A few remain. Green candleholders that spell NOEL. Knit Santa faces on doorknobs. Moravian star over above the porch steps. A christmas cactus that refuses to die and insists on blooming right around this time each year.

We went to Christmas services together, just mom and me. Spring Valley Baptist Church. My brothers, the smart one and the chosen one, had other commitments. How many Christmas services have we been to together? I have no doubt that when I was three months old she hauled me to my first one. Over the years they grew in importance and somewhere along the line I finally got it, at least part of it. Every Christmas service helps me understand this thing a little bit better. The incomprehensible. The puzzle. The Lord of the Universe coming to earth in the form of the creature created most like him. God become flesh. The wonderful mystery surrounding his blessed mother.

I confess that I dozed off during the service. We left shaking a few hands, meeting a few of her friends, exchanging Christmas greetings. It was nice to be there, repeating a ritual that goes back to my childhood, my parents childhood, my grandparents childhood, the Sunday Christmas service.

When I was a child and we had Christmas at my grandmother's in East Tennessee, the Sunday service was at First Freewill Baptist of Elizabethton. The deacons passed a bag filled with fruit and candy to everyone afterwards. Every Christmas I think about that and the kick we would get from the very simplest of gifts. There was a message in that bag. The best gifts are often the humblest. I got it then, I get it now.

The last person I spoke to before leaving the state was the TSA agent at the gate. "I have a question for you". She surprised me, not sure what was next. "Can you name Santa's reindeer?"she asked with the warmest of smiles. Not only could I answer that,  I can also describe the sound of reindeer walking on my grandmother's roof.