There are a lot of terrible things going on in the world. Yet we are in that sacred season when, as Christians, we pause to celebrate the birth of Jesus the Christ. We can allow ourselves to be shaped by the darkness this world, or we can choose to let our light shine. I choose the latter. At Christmas, my heart is often drawn back to Christmas as a kid on our family farm in Ohio. I was blessed to be born into a horse and cattle farm that has been in our family for more than 200 years. Christmas, especially Christmas Eve, was always something special. December 24 was also my dad’s birthday, and he was deeply loved by neighbors and friends, which meant our home and farm were always full of life that night.
One Christmas Eve stands out more than the rest. I must have been about four years old. Night was settling in, and the wind and snow were whipping across the barnyard, the familiar lake-effect snow blowing in from Lake Erie at the southern edge of the snow belt. The barn was cold when we flipped on the lights. We climbed into the loft, pitching bales of hay down below, filling the mangers, pouring grain into feed boxes, and topping off water buckets. One by one, the horses and cows were gathered and led through the doors. Without hesitation, they went straight to their stalls and stanchions, knowing their special places. As the barn slowly warmed, the steady sound of animals eating filled the space. Even at that young age, there was something deeply comforting about it.
After dinner, we went to church. I remember my brother Chuck carrying me out afterward. He was fourteen years older than me, and we were incredibly close. As we walked, he asked if I thought Santa had made it to the farm yet. I worried that it was still early on Christmas Eve and maybe Santa hadn’t arrived, especially since we celebrated Christmas that night along with my dad’s birthday. Then Chuck looked up toward the moon and said, “See there? That’s Santa’s sleigh and his reindeer. Don’t you see them?” He said it with such confidence that I stared and stared, even though I couldn’t quite make them out. Chuck insisted he had seen Santa Claus, and that was good enough for me. When we got home, there were presents under the tree, and to me, that was proof enough.
That night was filled with laughter, gifts, and the simple joy of being together. Afterward, neighbors and friends stopped by to wish my dad a happy birthday. Their kids and I played with my new farm set while the adults talked and laughed late into the evening. A few years later, Chuck was killed by a drunk driver. My dad passed away in 1989. Yet the spirit of those two remarkable men still lives on, here in memory and fully alive in heaven. Every Christmas Eve, I feel them close. In the best of times and the worst of times, they were the best of men. We have a Savior, Jesus, who walks with us through every season of life. No matter the state of the world, we can rest in His promise from Matthew 28:20, “I am with you always, even to the end of the world.” God bless you and yours during this season.
