Christmas Traditions
A book excerpt...
The following is an excerpt from The Grace Writers. It is a story Claire (my protagonist) shared during a writing group meeting. This one addresses the joy—and fear of Christmas gifts from crafty aunts.
Aunt Evelyn loved making gifts for the family. She was not, however, an artist. She admired the talents of her peers and tried desperately to duplicate their work with a creative spin.
She tried—and she failed.
Unfortunately, Evelyn did not recognize the failures. She knitted love into her sweaters. She didn’t see the uneven arms and yarn sticking out like strands of spaghetti. Her pattern and color combinations turned heads—away. She crocheted, decoupaged, and strung beads with abandon, always keeping the recipient in mind while working. Her heart overflowed with talent—her hands, not so much.
Aunt Evelyn oozed joy, warmth, and love, but the dread began when a birthday or Christmas arrived. The worry was that a reaction to a gift would not match the enthusiasm with which it was given.
“I stayed up all night finishing this for you,” Evelyn would say.
Her declaration only added to the foreboding that hung over the recipient’s head like a guillotine. After a gift exchange, Evelyn flitted around, asking how much we loved what she’d given.
“I can tell you made it with love.”
“This yarn is so soft.”
“I love kittens. How did you know I love kittens?” (Her decoupage always included magazine cuttings of kittens.)
When Uncle Red passed away, her creative spark waned. She informed the family of her lack of enthusiasm. “Don’t expect my usual level of gifts this Christmas,” she sighed. I’m spent after Red’s passing.”
We assured her she should grieve and let the family spoil her this Christmas. We were sad for her sorrow but relieved for her lack of creative zeal.
As Christmas drew near, she began to show signs of life again. Perhaps the holiday lights or Christmas carols sparked her muse.
She arrived at Grandma’s house on Christmas Day with a stack of uniform-sized wrapped boxes. A palpable dread cloaked the room. She handed a small, heavy gift to each person.
Her hands folded in her lap, she chirped, “Unwrap your gifts.”
We gingerly worked off the paper. Inside was a shiny box tied with red and white baker’s twine. Each recipient removed the string and opened the box to reveal a block of fruitcake suitable for use as a doorstop. Evelyn clapped her hands with delight. “I’ve added baking to my repertoire. Doesn’t it smell divine? Go ahead, dive in.”
In an instant of pure genius, Grandma jumped out of her chair.
“I’ll slice mine so we can all taste it.”
She scurried to the kitchen, checked on the turkey, and turned the oven temperature down. Grandma sliced the cake into thin slices and arranged them on a plate. She glanced at the clock and recalculated the roasting time before setting the plate on the coffee table with a flourish.
“You go first, Grandma.” Uncle Leonard smirked.
“Oh, no, I had a slice in the kitchen,” she said, winking at him.
No one could outfox Grandma.
Each person in the circle took a slice and then a bite.
“Mmmm.”
“Oh, my.”
“Hmmm.”
Aunt Evelyn perched on the sofa, beaming.
The fruitcake crossed my tongue—a shock of cloves numbing it instantly. It settled hard into the bottom of my stomach.
Grandma had a plan. “I’m so sorry, I just realized that the oven was too low—dinner will be a bit late. Perhaps we could all walk around the neighborhood and admire the Christmas lights.”
The family embarked on a Christmas stroll in the snowy landscape, hoping to digest Aunt Evelyn’s gift in time for dinner.
Even though I was young, I realized how much Aunt Evelyn loved us. I understood we loved her back by appreciating her gifts, even if our delight was only for her benefit.
When Aunt Evelyn passed away, we were surprised to learn that everyone had saved her gifts. No one could part with them. For some, it was the outlandish humor of the item, and for others, the tacky element that couldn’t be duplicated or described. For all of us, though, it was love. Who could throw away love? We began an Aunt Evelyn gift exchange every Christmas—sharing her creations over and over brought us joy, even in her absence.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
May you grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ as we celebrate His birth. (Ephesians 3:18)