Moonlight steamed through the window, casting a frosty glow across the patchwork bedspread tucked tightly around my twelve-year-old frame. Downstairs our grandfather clock sang out eleven hearty gongs, and I could hear my parents’ snores drifting across the hallway. But sleep remained elusive for me that chilly Christmas night, my mind still abuzz with memories from this special day. The look of wonder that spread across my brother’s face when he glimpsed the train track Santa left under the tree. The joyous surprise of matching family Hawaiian outfits and the accompanying announcement that we would be spending spring break in Maui. The comforting tones of Bing Crosby and his White-Christmas wishes humming from the stereo. The spicy cinnamon aroma wafting up from my mug of bedtime tea.
I’d ended the evening with some personal time in God’s Word, and now my thoughts turned to the passage I had read that night from Luke chapter 2: “But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.” Reading those words, I’d felt an immediate kinship with Mary—a girl close to my own age who, like me, carried the weighty gift of her memories deep within her.
Mary recognized the importance of observing, of savoring, of reminiscing and reflecting. In pondering the events of my own Christmas day, I was mirroring the response of Jesus’ own mother after witnessing the very first Christmas two thousand years earlier. I was still too young to appreciate the significance of this task for Mary or for myself, but I sensed its importance and pledged to keep up with this annual practice of adding to my Christmas memory bank at the end of each holiday season.
Nearly three decades have passed since that memorable December night, and not one Christmas has escaped my careful observation. I have faithfully treasured the highlights of each holiday season, then spent time intentionally pondering them in my heart before drifting to sleep each December 25th. The memories start to blur across the years, spilling into one another and jostling for priority in the dwindling space of my too-full brain. Details fade, but threads of warmth and beauty from my favorite holiday memories have woven themselves into a vibrant Christmas tapestry that permanently envelops my heart. And tucked into the comforting corners of that tapestry is a deepening understanding of the Lord and His goodness—an understanding revealed in tiny moments whose significance continues to expand with the passage of time.
The magnitude of my memory making and storing and pondering has grown in the years since stepping into the role of Mother. Like Mary, I’m now cultivating memories for a child (four children) as well as myself. My reflections, unlike Mary’s, will not go on to inform the writers of the Gospels, nor will our family’s small Christmas memories play a pivotal role in the salvation of mankind. But I sense the creation of these memories is transforming my children’s malleable young hearts, tilting them towards the light of Christ and an understanding of His love for them. And I am certain that observing and treasuring the formation of their young souls is doing a work in me.
In reminiscing, I’ve grown increasingly awestruck by The One who is at the center of the Christmas season. Not every Christmas memory is directly about Him, yet He is present within every moment, and there is no limit to His creativity in using each moment (and the memories of each moment) to bring about good.
Heavenly Father, be with me this holiday season as I once again treasure and delightedly ponder the cascade of Christmas moments—the mundane, the extraordinary, the secular, and the sacred. I remain humbled and grateful to you for holding my memories and my heart in you capable, loving hands.