Every
American family celebrates Christmas in their own
idiosyncratic way. Some family events are short
lived, while others achieve the level of tradition.
Here is a glimpse of the Kerns house at Christmas
time and three traditions which seem to be putting
down roots.
First, let me explain my background. I was a kid in
1965 so I was not subjected to the anti-Christian
indoctrination of today’s progressive education
system. Marxists simply cannot allow God to hold a
position of higher authority than an all-providing
government; hence today’s purposeful misapplication
of the First Amendment. At our rural Wyoming country
school, Christmas was fervently celebrated and we
spent weeks in music class practicing every verse of
“Silent Night,” “Joy to the World,” plus dozens of
others. Our school program truly glorified God
exactly as our founders intended and ever since,
Christmas has always been special to me. Here we go.
I built my first house in 1991 with a 22 foot living
room ceiling. During construction, I anchored a 30
foot section of six-inch well casing from the
footings up through the crawl space and into the
living room. I welded pipe fittings at the floor and
ceiling levels and then boxed the entire assembly
behind sheetrock. Visitors standing in the living
room never realized the eight foot high box
concealed the mother of all Christmas tree stands.
Once locked into place, my kids could have built a
tree house and held a barn dance in our Christmas
tree. It was solid.
The down side to this tradition is now my kids think
all Christmas trees must run floor to ceiling and
they are not in the holiday spirit unless the tree
bends at the top. Last week, my middle daughter
Chelsie e-mailed us a picture of their tree wedged
in her living room in Fallon, Nevada. It is bent
over a good two feet at the top. Nice job Chelsie;
another family tradition crosses state lines into
the next generation.
Secondly, five years ago, while window shopping at a
photography studio, Druann and I spotted a
decorative Christmas tree with a couple old time
photos adorning its branches. That tripped a shutter
in our minds so from that year on we decorated our
tree exclusively with white lights and family snap
shots; no glass balls, garland or tinsel. Now, in
the evenings of the holiday season with a fire
crackling in the fireplace and carols in the
background, we two empty-nesters wander around our
tree reliving the stories captured in each photo as
we reminisce about the 38 Christmases God has given
us together. It is a warm and meaningful time and I
dread the day I have to say good bye to my trophy
wife.
Lastly, the singing of carols Christmas Eve has been
a long time family tradition. Since most all of us
were graduates of Slack School we were just like the
old people in church and we didn’t need to read the
words from a Hymnal. We belted out every verse from
memory; what we lacked in rhythm and tone we made up
for with volume. All gathered around the family Yule
log, I’m not sure we truly brought glory to God, but
I do know He heard us.
In 1995 our Christmas Eve singing tradition moved
outside after I purchased my black mule team, Amos
and Andy. Their harnesses came with two strings of
sleigh bells and when hitched to a hay rack loaded
with family and friends we looked and sounded like
we had just fallen off a Norman Rockwell Christmas
Card. My kids grew up thinking we were normal and I
have so many wonderful memories of the singing
voices with the background of the bells jingling
with every foot strike of the trotting mules. Those
were glorious family times.
Christmas Eve will be different in 2010. At the age
of 30, the ceaseless passing of time and the cold of
winter have permanently unhitched my mule team. On
December 9th, Amos laid down on the frozen ground of
a Wyoming hay meadow to never rise again. This
Christmas, Andy stands in the corral alone.
I truly wish everyone a very merry Christmas. If
you’ve never felt close to God perhaps now is the
time. May His presence warm and comfort you during
these trying times of our great American republic.
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