Another Thanksgiving is in the books, so to speak.
Another turkey and ham put away, accompanied by dressing, veggies, homemade cranberry sauce, rolls and mac-n-cheese, along with a generous helping of giblet gravy.
Another few hours spent with family members, laughing and sharing stories.
We did something a bit different this year. Most of our extended family could not attend a planned Christmas gathering as we normally do, so we decided to double-up on holidays. So last Thursday was the Campbell family’s Thanks-Christmas-giving.
We had Thanksgiving lunch, then exchanged small gifts that afternoon for an early Christmas.
We don’t give “big” gifts typically. My mother has an assortment of large Christmas stockings that we stuff with … uh, stuff. Some of the items are a hand/homemade, some are quirky and inexpensive, some are quirky and a little less inexpensive, and some might even be sweet and sensible. It depends on the gift giver and receiver.
Among other items, I got Star Wars socks, a life-size ghost pepper made out of gummy candy and a pocket tool shaped like skull and crossbones.
I enjoy all the fun gifts — giving and receiving — and the goofiness we share in the process. I love hanging out with my family and all the new faces that seem to be added each year.
But absolutely without a doubt my favorite part of Christmas is something that has happened in my life every year since 1970. It probably happened before that, too, but I wasn’t born yet, so …
My dad reads The Christmas Story from the Gospel of Luke. His baritone voice somehow lends an air of authority to anything he reads aloud. The Gospel has its own authority — it doesn’t need my dad’s voice — but I love the sound of him reading it to us. I love the truth it conveys to us about the gift of Jesus to a world that desperately needs salvation, even if it doesn’t think so.
We had two or three newbie listeners this year at my sister’s home in Chunky when my dad opened the Bible and read from it before we exchanged gifts. Though my family knows it, I felt it important to make sure these new ears and minds understood the importance of Dad/Poppa reading the story of Christ’s promised coming. So, I announced it was my favorite part of Christmas, and that — in my mind — it wasn’t really Christmas until this happened.
I know one Christmas will be the final one Dad reads the story to us. When that day comes, he’ll be in the presence of the Christ he’s shared with and modeled for us for a lifetime. I hope that is many, many years from now. And until then, I will continue to enjoy and blessed by the reading of the story in my father’s voice, that begins with: “And it came to pass in those days …”
Send Brett Campbell your Chunky news to chunkybrett@mail.com.
