The Christmas Train

I like trains.

I like Christmas.

For a number of years the idea of trains and Christmas seemed to go together.

It has often been tradition for a boy to receive a train for Christmas. I think I was the happy recipient of a couple during my childhood.

R. and I had a memorable dinner cruise on a train on or around our fifth wedding anniversary (which falls on December 10th). It was cold and rainy outside which made us feel all warm and cozy as we sat at our table onboard. The route took us around Atlanta and we were occasionally surprised by the sights of beautifully lit houses out the window.

That's why the illustration of a Christmas Train seemed quite appropriate this morning when a thought process was triggered by my Sunday School teacher. He had confessed that because his life's work is in education, there is a slow down during the holidays and it is - for him - a natural time to reflect on his spiritual state. This prompted some conversation from others in the class about their view of the Christmas season as it relates to their emotions and view of God.

As we moved into the morning worship service my mind began to wander a little as I searched for something to symbolize the season for me so far. I arrived at the thought of a Christmas Train.

This Christmas Season - and probably most of the recent ones for me - have been like standing near a railroad track and watching a train go past.

The seasons are always met with tremendous anticipation and it seems as if there is always plenty of time to prepare.

Then suddenly the huge locomotive roars by.

Then each event of the season flies past me like so many open rail cars. I try to enjoy each event while also anticipating and planning for those upcoming rail cars.

In some instances, the train slows down and I can walk along with the current rail car and earnestly drink in the significance of the event; at other times, I can scarcely take in all the contents of the rail car before it has sped past and another event is already occurring.

One rail car may be a cold and rainy Sunday afternoon spent by the fire and a well-lighted Christmas tree, sipping hot cider and singing carols or traveling down memory's path through the gateway of old photos.

Another fast moving rail car may be filled with preparations for a Christmas party - there are babysitters to confirm, dishes to prepare, gifts to purchase, last minute phone calls, schedules to rearrange, quick trips back to the grocery store to pick that "one forgotten ingredient" and then directions to follow, smiles and pleasantries to exchange.

One rail car for us was a perfectly Christmassy morning during the week, when R. and I took some time off from work to attend the Winter Arts Festival at our kids' school. Despite the politically-correct-sounding name it was a wonderful experience and helped to bring the Reason for our celebration back into clear focus.

Other rail cars passed us by leaving very little of the impression we had hoped for: rushed lightings of the Advent Candles after getting started too late for a school night; events in which we tried to be too many places within too short an expanse of time; even some home events that were forced and filled with manufactured sentimentality ... mostly because this dad adopted the Griswaldian attitude of "we'll enjoy this Christmas family tradition if it kills us!"

This weekend the train slowed to the point that a person could actually jump aboard and ride for awhile, soaking in the sights, sounds, tastes and joys of Christmas, as we enjoyed family time with R.'s family.

There was music and singing, eating, laughter, more eating, clearing away of dishes and talk of still more eating, presents, and a very special few moments when R.'s dad talked about his family.

On that night, after supper we had a small program with Ab and AA playing a piece or two on the piano and guitar, R. played a Jim Brickman number on the piano, our sister-in-law and two nieces sang, Grandmother and the two boys played the ukulele and guitars (AA and I joined, trying to keep up). Then I read the Christmas Story from the Gospel of Luke.

Papa then talked from his heart. Explaining about his family and how he was raised, he talked about his parents and how no one seemed to know how they met or became a couple.

He went on to say he wanted to be sure that those questions were settled for his family. Then he told the story of how that relationship of 57 years came to be... how the 16 year old boy driving an ice truck was smitten by the sight of that auburn-haired girl on the corner of Maple and 15th street. He went on to talk about their humble beginnings and how they were married at the tender ages of 17 and 16.

It was a special rail car and one I did not hasten to leave.

In the blur of cars speeding past me, I hope I have given sufficient attention to the things that matter most.

As we go into this last week before Christmas we expect something of a lull to ensue and perhaps we will be able to truly evaluate our spiritual state as it relates to this season.

In the meantime, I am conscious of the fact that the caboose is rounding the bend just ahead of us and the season will soon be a distant memory with only some cold iron tracks and a mournful whistle-blow to remind me of what has been.