Christmas Memories

We're slowly working through our second Michiana winter. If you've ever experienced lake effect snow then you know exactly what I mean by "working through." Being from Colorado Jenna and I scoffed when locals or other survivors tried to prepare us. Before the ice age last year I asked one of our office staff members if the snow sticks around all year. I received a short blank stare and then immediate peels of laughter from her and everyone who overheard my dumb question. That was not the first time I thought to myself, "Where in the world are we?"

Evidently there is a thirty square-mile section of land on the south-eastern tip of Lake Michigan that gets the brunt of all of Lake Michigan's fury and South Bend, IN sits right in the middle of it. It's like Lake Michigan has some serious emotional baggage and choses to take it all out on South Bend. Maybe it's mad because it gets all of Chicago's pollution first, or maybe because it's farthest from the ocean, I really have no idea. Either way, we get to experience Lake Michigan's yearly winter temper tantrum in all it's glory. If you have a two year-old you understand what I'm saying. If you have a two year-old and live in South Bend you probably need drugs and counseling. I'll give you some numbers.

Anyway, last year even the locals said the winter was bad. This year, however, we are nearly to Christmas and we've only had but a dusting. I'm thrilled! No, ecstatic! Ironically, in Nashville we nostalgically pined about a White Christmas when we we cruised around in our two-wheel-drive air conditioning, and now I'm attempting jumping jacks while bundled up in Carhartt in my F-150 that I contemplated leaving chains on all last year. Funny how seasons change.

With all the talk about snow and Christmas I am reminded of my childhood. Granted, the old memories often get sweeter with time, but I had to dig out a few pictures of Colorado winters to see if the sky was as blue as I remembered. Turns out my memory's pretty good.



I have albums and shoe boxes full of photographs that my dad took of us growing up. As a professional photographer he beautifully captured almost every important moment and season of our lives growing up. In a memory and tradition filled season like the one we're in I find myself thoughtfully thumbing through those albums and boxes. It's like I'm looking for something. I still haven't found it, but what I am finding is quite simple - I'm growing up. I get to be Santa now. (Sorry kids). I get to establish traditions and memories for my family.

My parents divorced a little over a year ago after thirty years of marriage and in seasons like this I find myself emotionally trying to pick up pieces. What I also see in a box of pictures is broken promises, forgotten memories, an incomplete legacy.

While we were singing Christmas carols in church this morning I was challenged by this: Christmas cannot be only about memories, traditions, and nostalgia. We must maintain the gospel-centricity of Christmas. Christ didn't come to fit into the clever rhymes of our carols, He came to save the world. When I remember this I'm embarrassed that I make it about my childhood memories and that I feel let down by my parents, and honestly that I complain about the weather and always want what I don't have.

There's a greater picture being painted that I want to have eyes to see. Just like the grey lake effect skies clouds my memory of brilliant blue sky, I won't let my own memories make me forget about Christmas.

I'm going to go drink some egg-nog now.