When I was a child, as the days of autumn shortened and the nights lengthened we would settle into our home and begin to bake. Cranberry bread, nut loaf, banana bread, sugar cookies, fudge, green cornflake wreaths, and rice Krispies snow men would line the cupboards. It was a quiet, busy time of preparation all leading up to the most magical night of the year, Christmas Eve.

The ritual of Christmas Eve was always the same. It would begin with a feast: steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, sautéed mushrooms and onions, frozen corn, and rolls. When dinner ended, us little ones would hurry off to our baths. Once our hair was squeaky clean and our bodies scrubbed, we would wrap our bodies in a towel and rush to our bedrooms. There we would squeal with delight as we found new pajamas. Once again, the elves had snuck in our bedroom window as we bathed, and left new pajamas on our pillow. We would quickly put them on and run to model them in the dining room, where the adults sat enjoying Christmas cookies. After a cookie or two, we put out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa. Then we were marched upstairs to bed, where we were warned that if we did not fall asleep, then Santa could not come.

And so we waited for Christmas to come. We had gone to bed to a house that was filled with the delicious aromas of our feast, but otherwise looked the same. And when we finally fell asleep and Santa arrived, he not only brought presents, but he turned our home into the magic of Christmas. He would place a beautiful Christmas tree in the corner of the living room and decorate it with lights, ornaments and tinsel. He would hang streamers in the dining room and mistletoe in the doorways, and a twinkling elf in the window. Christmas had arrived!

One of the adults would then rush up the stairs yelling to us, “Hurry, Hurry! Santa is just leaving. If you are quick you might see him on the roof!” In our sleepy daze we would run to the window near the steps that looked out over the roof where our chimney stood and through the ice would try and try to search for a sign of Santa. We were always a little too slow and a little too late and every year we just missed him. There was no time for disappointment; however, because we knew that just down those stairs the magic of Christmas awaited us. As we ran down the stairs and burst through the door there it was. There it was! The tree, the lights, the music, and piles and piles of presents, Christmas had come.

Now as an adult, with a little boy of my own, we still use the dark time of year to prepare for the light of Christmas. We bake our favorite Christmas treats and wait for the light to return. We have decided that it is too much work for Santa to decorate our tree and house and deliver gifts not only to our house but to everyone else’s, too. So we help him out by decorating our home and tree on the Winter Solstice, Dec. 21st. On Christmas Eve, we take our showers and baths before, instead of after, dinner and those elves have managed to find me every year, no matter where I have traveled or lived. Each year they still delight me and now my husband and son as well, with warm and cuddly new pajamas. Our dinner is still a feast that includes steak and mushrooms and onions. New traditions have emerged and have been added to the old, creating our own unique family tradition. And the magic remains.

And so, during this Christmas season, I honor Santa’s beloved elf, Jane. With deep gratitude I give thanks for her light that still shines.

My dear mom, Jane,
died on Sept. 14, 2005.
Her spirit of magic and surprise lives on.
Merry Christmas.

“The light still shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has never put it out.”
-John 1:5