We were supposed to grab a bite and then go to church. I could barely speak must less chew and swallow. We had driven through all of that for this? Aluminum tree, no presents, no fully decorated house? No childhood vision of Christmas dreams come true? I concentrated on not crying. Dad looked very serious when he said "no tears".
Gramma suggested we walk to church. Of course Miss Forrest and Mr. Hardy had long, warm coats and rubbers as my grandmother called those boots that covered your shoes. They were impossible to put on or take off. Dad said we would all just go in our car since it wasn't snowed in. Piling in the car I noticed lights everywhere. Spots of light. People were indeed walking to church lighting the way with flashlights and a few candles. The snow wasn't falling now but it glistened like fairy dust and glitter. Not quite exciting enough to pull me out of the pout I was in but it was so small town, so surreal.
There are two churches in Calhoun as I recall. The Methodist Church where we went and The Not Methodist Church where everyone else went. Gramma's church is small and beautiful. It too still stands. My parents married there. It has simple wooden pews. A modest pulpit and a wooden board on the wall with the names and numbers of the hymns to be sung. Two fresh evergreens were on the altar, unadorned. The light was low. You could see the windows were stained glass but could not make out the religious scenes and symbols. It was quiet. No choir. A piano sat on the altar between the trees.
A lady who could have been Aunt Bea played and the congregation sang, "Joy To The Word". The minister, much younger than the one at home, stood at the pulpit. He told the simple story of a young couple of the road, afraid, waiting for the birth of her baby. Trying to find shelter and finding no room. Cowering in a lowly stable her time came and the baby was born. A young boy who would grow up and change the world with love and understanding. That was it. We sang a few more carols. Then this young minister sat on the floor of the altar. He held up a big book. The Night Before Christmas. He began to read. I knew this story like I knew the story of Bethlehem. This was awesome though. He was going to talk about Santa...in church! The minister reached the part of the story where..."out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter..."
"HO, HO, HO", from the back of the church. SANTA WAS HERE! He had a big pack on his back full of gifts. Oh Boy! Then it dawned on me these were for the children of the church and brother and I were probably not included. But we were. Santa called us all one by one to the altar to receive one gift from HIM. The man. Santa. WOW. I got a jigsaw puzzle. It had my name on it. I was thrilled.
At the end of the service we sang Silent Night lighting candles we had each been given. The lights in the church went out and only the glow of candles showed the way out. I do not think I have ever felt closer to God.
The congregation began their walks home and we drove the few blocks back to Gramma's. That ugly tree was still there but I didn't really care. I had things to look for and I was starting a campaign to sleep on the settee in the living room by the fireplace.
That sleeping arrangement was not going to happen. Gramma simply said no. She had that power over me. You didn't argue with Miss Forrest. I began cleverly looking everywhere. I didn't really want to find presents I wanted to find things like wrapping paper, ribbon, candy, gift tags. Things that would prove gifts under the tree were from Santa and not from Gramma's dinning room. I nonchalantly went through the kitchen. I found the Fig Newtons my grand dad's favorite, yuck. I spotted something wrapped in silver foil on the top shelf of the pantry. CANDY, had to be. I managed to pull one of the shiny squares down. I opened it. It was rather gray and smelled slightly like feet. I decided it must be very special grown up candy. I took a big bite. Yeast tastes awful. Just in case you ever get confused as I did, do not eat it.
I looked in closets and under beds. In nooks and crannies. Drawers. The only place I didn't look was the basement. No way. Only a murderer would hide something down there.
Finally bedtime was announced. Christmas Eve bedtime, a little later than usual because we weren't getting any sleep. I got the family up around 4 a.m. most Christmas mornings. I don't remember having that, too excited too sleep, in Calhoun. I remember being in my bed on the side porch and watching the lights glisten on the snow. Peaceful, clean, gorgeous. It was so much better to look at the world heavy with snow than to drive through it. Everything had a different shape, trees hung almost to the ground with the heavy snow. Bird baths and decorative things in yards looked like shapless mounds of glistening white. Perfect Christmas Eve.
It was morning before I knew it. Time to run to the tree!
No, time for Miss Forrest to make Christmas breakfast.
Oh come on! I had another hour to wait to see if Santa was real.
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