Some people hang up stockings, some people hang up memories. For me, the holiday season is rich with memories. Family dinners with my cousins and I running around my grandmother’s house, crowded with people who loved us; memories rich with love, laughter, music, and joy. Cookie baking, ornament making, and of course putting up the nativity were favorite activities.
My mother had and has a special penchant for the nativity, and I remember quite vividly how she moved the nativity pieces through the house for months. She wanted me to understand that the celebration we have on these days is not just a quick thing, but it was a process over time.
Last night, I put up one of the nativities which will adorn the house. I know some will say it’s too early, but I disagree. What more beautiful Thanksgiving decoration could I possibly have than a crèche with a new family represented inside? And not only a new family, but a baby that was to grow into the man that died and was brought back, the man who still lives today. This nativity is not the fanciest one, not the prettiest one. It’s chipped and the painted plastic has worn off on many places. The little plastic sheep and cows look worn. The angel has lost the glue which held her high against the wood, and now must be tucked in. It is something I played with as a child, learning from these symbols the story of the holidays.
I look forward to these new holidays, as a chance to hang up the memories once again and make some new ones.