By Shirley Noe Swiesz
Originally published on Journey of a Mountain Woman
I ran across this that I had written a few years ago and thought you all might enjoy it even though Christmas is over.
As we rush through the next week, tired and weary, take a few minutes to tiptoe and listen. Listen for that small whisper that will take you to Bethlehem and tiny hands that will beckon you. You remember it well...when you were very young and believed in the magic of Christmas...and the excitement not just for gifts but the awesomeness of Christmas itself. Put away the gadgets and turn off the music and remember...those days at granny’s house, not a gift or an ornament but Christmas was there in a gentle face and the work worn hands that gently combed your hair. The Babe was there in the stooped old man who loved you no matter what and the uncles who begged you to read them the Christmas story one more time. You were young but you were the only one who could read. You probably had a similar family if you grew up here in the mountains and you remember mama ...cooking that big dinner...one of the few times you had meat. And there were oranges and nuts...the only time you had them.you must remember your dad...his hands were rough and crusted with coal dust...no matter how often he washed them. He got in the firewood and coal for the cook stove and the old warm morning. There wouldn’t be many gifts but you knew the Babe was there. Even the schools were in on the season...it was there in the happiness of your friends and the Christmas plays with little angels missing two front teeth, decked out in angel clothes, turned slightly rusty from sulphur in the water. The babe nestled in the tiny little manger made by somebody’s grandpa and you knew the little doll was only a doll but the Babe was there. And the church...how you loved going to church services on Christmas Eve...the perfection of the imperfect; little girls with hair that had been curled with paper poke curlers and little boys with hair that was slicked back with water and whose pockets bulged with marbles and maybe a chaw of tobacco he had sneaked from pap. And that wonderful bag of candy, fruit, and nuts that you would take home and share with the family. My eyes well in tears for I know He was there and I miss the innocence of walking with the Babe. Go there now...for a little while and touch his little head and hold his tiny hand...Merry Christmas! Shirley Noe Swiesz