Merry Christmas

It's a few minutes after midnight on Christmas. I'm watching my son finish some last-minute gift wrapping, and thinking about how the frame through which I view Christmas has changed over the years.

I guess the first Christmas I can remember was when I was three years old, although I'm not sure whether it's a real memory or one I've created through old photographs. My big brother is spiffily turned out in a plaid bathrobe, holding his new cowboy gear. My sister has a new doll, and I'm seated beneath the tree with a big wrapped package between my legs. I can't remember what was in that package, but I do remember being pretty happy in the midst of all the chaos.

The age gap between me and my siblings is pretty big, but they did a good job of playing along with the whole Santa vibe -- helping me make cookies and deciding what kind Santa would like during his visit to our house. I don't remember too many Christmas disappointments as far as gifts go. Somehow, my wish lists managed to stay relatively reasonable, and early on I learned the joy of watching someone squeal with delight as they opened a special gift I made or saved my allowance to buy.

Still, things were changing. As time passed, my brother and sister left the Christmas dinner table to hang out with their friends. I finally realized that Santa looked a lot like my Dad, and the Christmas haul changed from toys to clothes and electronics. Eventually, the number of folks around the Christmas grew as we kids paired up and married.

Christmas returned to a time of anticipation, as the adults looked to create new fantasies and traditions for the next generation. I saw the holiday through multiple frames -- the children's, my parents, my parenting and my own personal appreciation of family and time together. Santa was back, along with new cookie varieties.

The first few Christmases after my husband died challenged all of us. We looked at December 25 with a clear reminder of what we'd lost, and also as a reminder of how blessed we were to have strong family and traditions to get us through our pain.

There have been a lot of Christmas changes over the past few years. My father and grandmother passed on. My mother's health deteriorated, and now the Christmas morning traditions and dinner have moved to my sister's home. We baby boomers now have to wake up the young adults in our family to get them down to the tree to open gifts, the reverse of all the years the kids would wake us at dawn.

So now my son has finished his wrapping. There's no expectation of Santa swooping down the chimney.

But there is anticipation of a great time next to the tree this morning, of surprise and delight and smiles and wry jokes and fellowship and love.

The frame continues to change. The joy remains.

Merry Christmas.