This story is published in partnership with Ozarks Alive, a cultural preservation project led by Kaitlyn McConnell.
OPINION |
Even as a child at the end of the long, rutted gravel road, my heart felt Christmas was about more than just the day when we loaded into the car and went to my grandparents’ house.
In different ways, I felt its moments of heart-held anticipation: As we stood, candles in hand at church on Christmas Eve, you knew the hope of a greater tomorrow, far beyond this life.
Closer to earth, the one-of-a-kind, yet never-changing, holiday moments made the season special. Looking back, I remember a few presents I got growing up, but I can clearly recall the moments that made the season.
In those younger years, I absolutely loved the sense of tradition that Christmastime brought. Getting out the tree and decorations; gingerly unwrapping the ornaments with the same fingers, a year older. And never tiring of hearing the story of how they came to be ours one more time.
There were small-town Christmas parades and concerts and then that long-awaited morning when we did pile in the car. (If it didn’t snow — given that gravel road, I dreaded the thought that a white Christmas could keep us stuck at home.) We’d listen to holiday music as we drove to the family gatherings where faces, like presents never fully unwrapped, smile in my memories.
I still love all of those things.
But with time, anticipation means something more than it did back then. It lives in my heart in new ways, bringing me even greater joy when I drive through frosty Ozarks mornings where I see love of the season all around me.
They speak to a love that shines this season but really lives all year. The moments where care and compassion shine like a figurative Christmas star. Moments that connect us in this place we call home.
I think of those whose hearts led them to Mt. Zion Church in Shannon County to sing and savor the rock church their collective family — built by both blood and history — helped bring to creation.
My mind goes to the volunteers who have spent generations stamping Christmas cards in Noel, sending greetings over the world from the Ozarks’ Christmas City.
Just this week, I saw the quaint Christmas tree in Crane, which sits in the middle of the street beneath criss-crossed green garlands. Somehow, silently, it makes you think of a simpler time and feel peace.
On Dec. 21, I wandered back to Champion, the tiny Douglas County town I’ve written about many times, where a Christmas potluck dinner drew neighbors to the Henson Store. The moment is one I will tuck away in my heart in hopes there will be more, but in fear that such places will ultimately go the way of faint and fading trail of smoke from the store's wood stove.
Yet in those moments and many more, the one that most strongly comes to mind is from the First Baptist Church in Gainesville. In rural Ozark County, the church is opening its doors to anyone in the area who needs shelter and heat as we face extreme winter temps. I later saw that a nearby rural fire department is also extending the same support.
“If we see really extreme temperatures coming, we try to open the church for people who need to stay a night or two,” Mason Eslinger, the church's pastor, tells me.
While such shelters aren’t new, I suspect there is a different type of need in rural areas given high levels of poverty that may leave people with a place to live but limited ways to stay warm. Pastor Eslinger says that's particularly true for elderly residents in their area.
“We just try to serve the community,” he says, pointing to the Bible's teachings. “We're trying to live out what we believe.”
Such actions are not a traditional celebration nor covered with holiday glitter, but are filled with holiday joy and a different anticipation for the true reason of the season.
In light of the first Christmas where there was no room in the inn, examples of having room — in our hearts, homes and busy schedules to help — warm my heart the most. May we remember in the middle of joy and sadness and expectation to make room for encounters that will mean far more than the minutes they take in real time.
In the future, I bet we will look back and be glad of the moments. For both the ones when we had joy, and for others when we were able to share it. And in all, connecting with a greater cause beyond the earthly gifts of one day.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
