Reflections on Traditions
People have different ways of celebrating the Christmas and New Years holidays. Traditions vary from family to family, and I find some similarities as well as differences. With my family growing, I watch with interest at how some of the traditions I have grown up with and lived with all my life change, expand, shrink and grow with the various children and their spouses.
I like traditions, do you? In a world that is constantly changing from one minute to the next, and so many changes in our world and societies, traditions bring a sense of peace, a sense of continuity that even in this vastly changing universe in which I live, there is something that never changes and will always be there no matter what else happens around me.
Perhaps that sounds silly to some of you, my trusted Readers. Let me explain why I feel this way. If I had say what one event in my life was a major turning point, I would have to say it was the move my family made from the close knit family unit on the farm in Brock, Nebraska to Phoenix, Arizona. My parents had to move for the health and well being of my sister, Carolyn. They had to sell everything in order to have money to live on, for my father had no job. It must have been very challenging for Dad to have made this decision. His whole life had been farming as was his father, and his father's father before him. Everything was sold including all our pets, toys, everything. I had a strong bond with my Irish grandmother, Carrie O'Harra, whom we affectionately called, Muzzy. We left behind the support of aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. I felt devastated. I could not wrap around my mind the loss. We arrived in Phoenix on the very day of my ninth birthday, which in the past had been celebrated with neighbors, family, aunts, uncles, grandparents and my cousin who shared the same birthday with me. I found myself in a crowded kitchenette motel with my four brothers and my sister. Everything was so different. Sadness overwhelmed me and tears sat ready to pour out behind the dam that held them back. My Dad asked me to take a little walk with him. He had a long talk with me about growing up, responsibilities, and bucking up, most of which I did not understand at that time.
We found ourselves in a little grocery store and he asked me to pick out cupcakes for all of us. I remember not wanting to get chocolate for my brother, Johnny, because he was allergic to chocolate, though I wanted it so badly at that time. Dad bought the cupcakes, some ice cream and butter. He took my hand we walked back to the hotel. Dad told me that he loved me, and that even if I didn't remember everything he talked about, to remember that sometimes, God allows difficult things to cross our path to make us better people--better not bitter. At the motel, my brothers and sister with the help of Mama had made some decorations, and we had a birthday party. I tried to have fun all the while I remembered how it used to be with all the family and friends, and the party with churning homemade ice cream. Everything was different. Different, until Mama arranged all the cupcakes on a plate like a birthday cake and Dad lit the candles and then everyone buttered my nose. Yes, that's right, buttered my nose. It was a tradition that had been handed down from my Grandmother Muzzy's family and before, I suppose. That very small act, made me feel connected to a past I missed and knew would never be the same again. I felt comfort and the dam broke, the tears fell, and I didn't feel quite so lonely anymore.
A child sees the world differently. Everything is bigger somehow. Traditions keep us connected to that child part of us that lives in all of us. Well, that is at least how I see it. They are as looked forward to as the arrival of Santa Claus.
We have a tradition of spending New Year's Eve around a campfire cooking hot dogs and roasting marshmallows. We celebrate the birthday a friend's son, born New Year's Eve just a few seconds before midnight. As we sit around that fire this year, there will be joy in remembering and sadness in seeing that son move away, he's all grown up now. Time flies. Customs, societies, and people all change like the seasons, but traditions are a small link to the past, a past well loved and much treasured. All the people who started those traditions in my family are gone now. All home with Jesus in heaven. Dad was correct, God does allow hard times to enter our lives, but Christ is right there with us all the way, making everything better not bitter.
I like traditions, do you? In a world that is constantly changing from one minute to the next, and so many changes in our world and societies, traditions bring a sense of peace, a sense of continuity that even in this vastly changing universe in which I live, there is something that never changes and will always be there no matter what else happens around me.
Perhaps that sounds silly to some of you, my trusted Readers. Let me explain why I feel this way. If I had say what one event in my life was a major turning point, I would have to say it was the move my family made from the close knit family unit on the farm in Brock, Nebraska to Phoenix, Arizona. My parents had to move for the health and well being of my sister, Carolyn. They had to sell everything in order to have money to live on, for my father had no job. It must have been very challenging for Dad to have made this decision. His whole life had been farming as was his father, and his father's father before him. Everything was sold including all our pets, toys, everything. I had a strong bond with my Irish grandmother, Carrie O'Harra, whom we affectionately called, Muzzy. We left behind the support of aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. I felt devastated. I could not wrap around my mind the loss. We arrived in Phoenix on the very day of my ninth birthday, which in the past had been celebrated with neighbors, family, aunts, uncles, grandparents and my cousin who shared the same birthday with me. I found myself in a crowded kitchenette motel with my four brothers and my sister. Everything was so different. Sadness overwhelmed me and tears sat ready to pour out behind the dam that held them back. My Dad asked me to take a little walk with him. He had a long talk with me about growing up, responsibilities, and bucking up, most of which I did not understand at that time.
We found ourselves in a little grocery store and he asked me to pick out cupcakes for all of us. I remember not wanting to get chocolate for my brother, Johnny, because he was allergic to chocolate, though I wanted it so badly at that time. Dad bought the cupcakes, some ice cream and butter. He took my hand we walked back to the hotel. Dad told me that he loved me, and that even if I didn't remember everything he talked about, to remember that sometimes, God allows difficult things to cross our path to make us better people--better not bitter. At the motel, my brothers and sister with the help of Mama had made some decorations, and we had a birthday party. I tried to have fun all the while I remembered how it used to be with all the family and friends, and the party with churning homemade ice cream. Everything was different. Different, until Mama arranged all the cupcakes on a plate like a birthday cake and Dad lit the candles and then everyone buttered my nose. Yes, that's right, buttered my nose. It was a tradition that had been handed down from my Grandmother Muzzy's family and before, I suppose. That very small act, made me feel connected to a past I missed and knew would never be the same again. I felt comfort and the dam broke, the tears fell, and I didn't feel quite so lonely anymore.
A child sees the world differently. Everything is bigger somehow. Traditions keep us connected to that child part of us that lives in all of us. Well, that is at least how I see it. They are as looked forward to as the arrival of Santa Claus.
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