OPINION:
I was never allowed to play in the living room when I was a kid. But at Christmastime, the deep pile of burgundy carpet became a maze of boxes and toys. The quietest room in the house was abuzz with activity.
In this Christmas season, I often find myself reaching. These 12 days are special because of how we reach back, through the years and emotions, to times when for each of us, the world was new and miraculous.
We reach back to the story of the quiet stable nestled somewhere amid the teeming masses of an ancient city that heralded a new king. We think about what it must have been like to be there amid the shepherds.
We reach back to that gift of the light of the world, who allowed us to feel the wonder and warmth of God’s embrace.
As we reach back for the baby in the manger, we also reach back to Christmas in our own history. To feel like a child again, even if just for an instant. We were all children of light once, just as he was. Heirs to His unspoiled faith that mankind could be more like our Creator.
We didn’t worry as much or stress as much. Content in our toys and the presence of loved ones, we felt safe, even though our world has never been anything but perilous. There were no bills to pay. No real responsibilities. No understanding of the fickle nature of life or the tests we face. No appreciation that with all its newness, life could be so short.
This time of year, I reach for those Christmases. The smell of the tree when I came down the stairs in the morning. The way flashing multi-colored lights made the pine branches dance in shadows on the ceiling. My grandfather’s giant Coke glass that stuck out like a sore thumb on a table of my mother’s crystal.
The plates of Italian pastries. The bowl of nuts and the Christmas napkins full of shells. The mountains of wrapping paper. The aroma of coffee as it perked on the stove. My mother’s sprawling Santa Claus collection that stretched into every room. The hand-painted Nativity she made.
While I played on the living room floor, in the adjacent dining room, parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles sat for hours playing cards, eating pastries and carrying on overlapping conversations.
They were doing then what I do now. They were reaching back as well, reminiscing. They spoke of relatives long gone that I’d never met, and told stories that brought laughter.
On my 10th Christmas, my father’s wheelchair was parked at the head of the table, his large antique Jacobean armchair moved to the side. I can still see it there from my vantage point on the living room floor. The next year, his armchair was back at the head of the table, and his picture hung on the wall.
Though their voices are fading into the recesses of my mind, every year, I find myself reaching for that simpler time. I stretch my senses and synapses to bring me back to that full house when the company streamed in for days, and there was no hint of sorrow.
Christmas present makes us reach as well, for new memories and renewed faith.
Today, it’s my children who run down the stairs to see what Santa quietly placed beneath the fresh pine branches on his whirlwind trip around the globe.
Now, my house is the cradle of new Christmas memories that a new generation will reach for one day.
This season of light and wonder brings with it a challenge to reach. Reach beyond our past and present, to give the light of Christmas that often dims with age to others all year through. We reach to be better tomorrow than we are today. We reach for proper perspective, correct priorities, and our role in bringing peace to a troubled world. We reach for courage, fortitude, and wisdom to create a future for ourselves and others worthy of our savior.
This year is my eldest son’s 10th Christmas, and I will reach for him and his siblings. I will reach forward more than back, to the memories that lay ahead, placing trust in God’s grace to carry us strongly into the next year. That’s the power and true spirit of this beautiful season.
• Tom Basile is the host of “America Right Now” on Newsmax TV, an author and a former Bush administration official.
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