Column: Our thoughts and our hearts come home at Christmas

By Margi Washburn

Hubby’s dad had a saying that I love to repeat. As he and my mom-in-law readied for a trip, whether in town or a few miles away, dad would say, “Well, let’s get goin’ so we can get back home.” I know just how he felt.

Home. What does that mean to you?

Tonight we’re watching the Celtic Woman group sing Christmas songs. As stunningly beautiful and talented as these women are, I found myself closely watching the audience reaction to the music.

Many mouthed the lyrics, some stared wide-eyed, and still others sat quietly crying.

It occurred to me that though there were different reactions, there may have been one reason: I believe our hearts turn toward home during special occasions, whether it’s a birthday, or holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas.

My thoughts are varied depending upon the song. The Little Drummer Boy reminds me of school Christmas programs. Jingle Bells and Frosty the Snowman are songs we loved to sing around the piano when we threw Christmas night parties at our house.

O, Holy Night, O, Come All Ye Faithful and Silent Night are especially suited for church, as are Away in a Manger and The First Noel.

Hubby and I watched the program, both of us lost in thought just like the audience members. I knew they were revisiting years past and reliving their favorite Christmas memories. No doubt some of those memories included family members and friends no longer here to celebrate with them, but that didn’t stop the visions in their hearts and heads. That would explain the glistening eyes and tear-stained faces.

Our Christmas memories from our time in Tucson are not often in my thoughts. There was the time it snowed on Christmas Day and the neighborhood went wild. It made me so heartsick for family back home I would have grabbed hubby and the boys and left everything just to see the rest of the family for that one day.

There was one other memorable occasion. A couple of things happened during our last Christmas in the desert. In anticipation that we would sell our home quickly in order to move back to Illinois, I sold many things, including our Christmas tree and all the decorations. As the season approached and we had not sold the place, I got a bit depressed and my co-workers noticed.
One friend had just finished her ceramic class, and a week before Christmas she approached me, a bit shyly, and told me she wanted our family to have a tree. She explained that it would be different, and if I wouldn’t mind, she would like us to use it, then give it back. She handed me a large, green tissue-wrapped bundle. When we unwrapped it later at home, we found a snow white ceramic tree with dozens of tiny colored lights. I cried on the spot.

When I told my friend Lucy about the tree, she let out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad someone gave you something. I was about to suggest you find a tumbleweed and throw some cheap lights on it.” I miss Lucy.

At the end of the Celtic Woman special, audience members sprang to their feet in a standing ovation. Something tells me they were thanking the musicians for taking them back home for a little while.

You know, Christmas parties are fun, shopping, too, but there comes a time when my thoughts begin wandering and somewhere inside I begin to ache to go home.

Home is where I’m most comfortable, where I can dress like I want, check out what’s in the fridge, raid my chocolate stash, read a book, play Solitaire on the computer, snuggle under a blanket in the recliner or simply sit at the kitchen table with a cup of hot chocolate and remember Christmases past, when everyone I love was home.

That reminds me. There is one song I haven’t yet mentioned, and that’s because no matter where I am when it begins to play, the words stop me in my tracks every time.

“I’ll Be Home for Christmas” is more than a song for some of us. It’s more like a prayer, and somehow that seems perfect, especially now.