The Spirit of Christmas
Stories from Family Heritage
By Sean E. Brotherson
Introduction
I believe one of the
best ways to celebrate the spirit of the Christmas season
the spirit of Christ is to share and tell stories that reflect
this spirit. In particular, its nice to share stories from
your own family heritage that reflect what it means to remember
Christ and the spirit of giving at the Christmas season. So,
in that tradition, this season I choose to share two stories
with you from my own family heritage. The first is a story
of my brother and the Christmas legacy that he passed on after
his early death. The second is a story of my father and his
encounter with Christmas as a young LDS missionary on the Navajo
Indian reservation in the early 1960s. Enjoy.
Story #1 A Christmas
Eve Tradition to Remember
(This account of my
own familys interesting Christmas Eve tradition was actually
written by a friend, Cheryl Smith, which she passed along to
me in recent days. I am, therefore, stealing her words although
the memory is all mine).
Several years ago,
when I was living in Washington, D.C., a friend of mine from
Utah County told me of his family's Christmas Eve tradition
probably the sweetest and most touching I've ever come across.
It warmed my heart and has continued to enchant me for over
a decade.
Jack and Karen Brotherson
of Orem are the parents of six children Mark, Sean, Eric,
Jeanne, Rachel and Erin. As was the case with most families,
the last few weeks prior to Christmas were a series of days
spent at shopping malls, purchasing from catalogues, and attempting
to hide presents from one particularly curious and ambitious
daughter who'd made snooping an art form.
Mark, the oldest boy,
managed to escape the hustle and bustle by shopping late rather
than early. No, I don't mean he caught those great last-minute
sales, I mean he literally would procrastinate holiday shopping
until 11 p.m. or so on Christmas Eve. That's about the time
he'd mosey down to the local convenience store and carefully
select items he deemed worthy and suitable as gifts for his
parents and siblings. He'd then take them home and wrap each
one, often times in a plain, brown grocery sack.
Imagine the glee on
the faces of family members as they tore into Mark's highly
anticipated, non-conformist gifts. After all, every mother wants
a giant bag of beef jerky, does she not? And what teenage girl
wouldn't be thrilled with a cassette tape of the Oak Ridge Boys'
Greatest Hits. This was an altogether different brand of holiday
cheer.
Several years ago,
Mark was killed in a tragic automobile accident. The loss of
this bright, beautiful boy was especially felt during the family-centered
holidays, particularly on Christmas Eve. Jack, a devoted father
and a man of great tenderness, decided to personally inherit
Mark's tradition.
From that time forth,
he assumed Mark's role as last-minute holiday shopper. The gifts
(usually something along the lines of Styrofoam coolers, mini
flashlights or giant Pez dispensers) are purchased then brought
home, carefully wrapped, and placed under the tree. Each is
tagged "from Mark." When each gift is opened, it is
an opportunity to remember fondly, and usually with a chuckle,
the joy of Mark's unique nature.
Traditions, as they
are want to do, continue. The decorations are up, the holiday
menu is planned, and travel arrangements are made. Karen, in
her official capacity as "Christmas Gnome," continues
to make Christmas magic for everyone around her. Rachel, though
now herself a married mother of one, continues her "snooping
for presents" tradition.
Many of the kids will
be home for the holidays this year. The grandchildren will assume
their roles in the reenactment of the Christmas story. (This
necessitates swaddling the newest family addition and carefully
placing him/ her in the manger scene a.k.a. Karen's piano
bench lined with blankets.) And close to midnight on Christmas
Eve, somewhere in Orem there'll be a tall, white-haired, old
cowpoke trying to decide if his youngest daughter prefers 10W-30
or 20W-50 motor oil for her car.
Last year, just before
Christmas, I relocated from Washington, D.C., to Utah County
to go to BYU. Prior to my move, I got a call from Jack and Karen.
They invited me to come live with them while I attend school.
I took them up on their generous offer and it has been a wonderful
year. This Christmas Eve, my plans will include some holiday
tunes, last-minute gift wrapping, and, if all goes as planned,
my first ride-along on the midnight run.
Story #2 A Testimony
of Christ on Christmas Eve
(This story was related
to me by my father, Jack Brotherson, and I recorded it for our
family history. He was a young man serving in the Southwest
Indian Mission, stationed in Arizona on the Navajo Indian reservation,
at the time of this experience in the early 1960s).
During my third Christmas
in the mission field I was living at Kaibito in Arizona, out
on the far reaches of the Navajo Reservation. While there we
often had people come in the middle of the night and ask us
to take them to Tuba City, or to haul them to some far-off hogan
so they wouldn't have to walk. This particular day just about
4:00 in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, a group of Navajos came
to our place, bringing home from the hospital one of their family
members. They asked if we could possibly give them a ride to
their home, which was about seventy-five miles across the reservation
and down into a part of the Kaibito area called Tsiskisee.
The roads were not particularly good, as there had been quite
a bit of snow. We weren't sure that we could make the trip,
but they indicated that cars had been coming out, and so we
thought we'd try.
Well, as we started
with that little Chevy truck loaded down with people and belongings,
we went for about thirty miles without too much trouble. Then
we reached the point where the road kind of ran out since there
had been a recent snowstorm. It was getting about 5:00 and
dark was not far away. We still had about thirty-five to forty
miles to go. We spent the rest of the evening with one of the
old men in the truck who knew the terrain and the area guiding
me along where the roads were supposed to be. Sometimes we
had to leave the roads because of drifts, travel cross-country
over ridges and then back into the roadways. We reached the
hogans around 10:30 that night. It had been about a seven-hour
journey.
It was late, and even
though it was Christmas Eve and we wanted to go home, we just
knew that it was inadvisable. So, the family gave us a hogan
to sleep in, sheep hides for bed mats, and blankets to cover
us. We stoked a fire in the little round barrel top stove,
had our evening prayers and went to bed, with the intent that
we would travel back to Kaibito the following morning.
I remember waking
about midnight and hearing the lambs and goats bleating in the
corral about 100 yards away. I was also cold because the fire
had died down. So, I stepped to the side of the hogan, picked
up some wood and re-stoked the fire. When it was blazing well,
I told my companion I was leaving for a few moments to go outside.
I left the hogan, and I thought that perhaps it would be wise
if I started the truck so that it would start in the morning,
because it was so cold. I started the truck, and waited a few
minutes for the truck to warm up.
There I stood on that
far edge of the world among the cluster of five hogans with
the people all soundly asleep. Just after midnight on the day
that we celebrate that our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, was
born. As I looked up at the wide expanse of heaven while leaning
on the truck, I saw not a cloud, but rather there was the cold
and the sharp contrast of earth and sky. The heavens were ablaze
with the stars, and I was made to feel incredibly lonely at
that moment in time, about as far away from my family and any
other human being that I could possibly feel. And as that sense
of loneliness engulfed me, I just stood and took in the breadth
of the sky and all its radiant beauty.
I heard after some
time a lamb or two bleating in the corral. This distracted
my attention, and sensing a little bit more unrest among the
animals, I thought that perhaps I should walk the hundred yards
or so from the truck to the corrals to see that everything was
all right. As I crossed that stretch of ground on that cold
and starlit night, I looked up at the stars and thought of that
faraway land where some 2,000 years before my Savior had been
born, on a night not unlike this perhaps, wherein he with his
parents sat in a lonely stable surrounded by a few sheep, goats
and other animals. It would have been again, in a sense, in
a lonely part of that world.
I reached the corral,
saw everything was OK with the sheep, turned and began to cross
that hundred yards of space between the corral and the truck.
As I reached the midway point, I had to stop and look once more
at the wide expanse of heaven, and uttered a prayer of thanksgiving
for that night and that event which happened 2,000 years before.
Following the prayer, as I turned to walk towards the truck
I distinctly heard a child cry in the night. That cry spoke
to my inner soul with an ardent voice, and I knew then in a
way I had never known before that I had been given a gift, a
gift of Christmas unlike any other I would ever receive.
Share Your Stories of Christmases to Remember
As my young family
has grown over the years, one of our Christmas traditions has
become reading and sharing a different Christmas story every
night from December 1st to December 25th. In addition
to the stories that we have gathered from a variety of books,
we now also have started adding these stories, our own family
stories, to the Christmas story reading tradition. Writing
down and passing on such stories can become a Christmas gift
and tradition that will bless families for generations to come.
During this Christmas
season, slow down and take a few moments to remember. Remember
the moments that have given you a testimony of the rich spirit
of family, faith, and the Savior at this Christmas season.
Write them down and share them with your family members. Let
your Christmas memories become part of your family heritage
that will bless those around you at this special time of year.
(You
can share any comments or feedback with Sean Brotherson at brotherson@meridianmagazine.com
look forward to hearing from you!)
