For My Children and All Families

This is long but I really do hope you will take the time to read it. You won't be sorry.

Last week, Duane and I were driving home from Waynesboro, VA when we stopped to have a bite to eat and found the book, "The Next Exit." It gives details of what's available at every interstate highway exit from the east to the west. Since we hope to do some traveling this year we decided this would be a great reference book to keep in our car. I was totally surprised at the story that was in the front of the book. As I read it I couldn't keep the tears from falling. I then read it to Duane and cried a little more. (I think I even saw a couple of tears fall from his eyes.) Memories of my childhood and then memories with our own children flooded my mind and heart.

I really wanted to share this story with my children so I sent an email asking the publisher if it was online somewhere that I could reference to. I received an answer back from Mark Watson, the author, with a copy of his story. It's not Christmas but it is Mother's Day and I felt there was no better present that I could give my family and friends, and especially to my children, than his story. Enjoy!

Christmas Pictures
Traveling during the Holidays is a completely American thing to do. Even when the economy isn’t great, people find a way to be with family at this wonderful time of the year. The airlines are busy and highways are jammed with travelers trying to get to their loved ones, either from near or far. You can tell when a vehicle is headed home for Christmas. With windows filled to the brim with packages and dirty snow clinging to their bumpers, the drivers push on relentlessly, as if their pursuit of happiness somehow depends on getting there a few moments sooner. In all of the bustle, someone finally asks, "Did you remember to bring the camera?" and the answer after a momentary pause, "of course."
"Show and tell" after Christmas vacation makes sense to teachers. Sharing with classmates what Santa Claus brought extends the season of good feelings and allows children to settle back into school again after the Holidays. Christmas means different things to many people and these days the emphasis is more on "things", but it wasn’t that way the year I was in third grade at Thornwell Elementary.
By 1959, several of my older siblings had left our South Carolina farm to attend college in the west. The country was a lot larger in those days. When the subject of Christmas came up the task of getting everyone home dominated the talk of my parents and I knew that money was an issue. Christmas in our home had always been mostly about being together, and the extra financial strain of helping family members get home would be a factor this year. Being able to enjoy each other’s company and Mama’s holiday cooking was the main thing though, so the plans were laid.
We began to look forward to their coming, some from as far away as Southern California. Not much shopping was done, but many preparations were made as our expectations mounted. One Sunday night several weeks before the Big Day we were riding home from church listening, as always, to our local radio station, with the sounds of Christmas filling the car. A song ended and the announcer’s deep voice said that the next selection, "I’ll Be Home For Christmas," had been requested by someone on the other side of the country. I’ll never forget how Mama looked at Daddy when the man on the radio gave out the name of my brother. Long distance phone calls were rare back then, but somehow he had gotten a message through, knowing that we would hear and be thrilled. He would not have been disappointed.
The older children arrived and we were together for what was becoming a rare occasion. There were lots of trips to town to see friends, and Mama cooked. There were nights when the talk and laughter lasted till early morning, and Mama baked. Finally someone suggested that we make some fruitcake and we all pitched in to produce, under her direction, the best icebox fruitcake in the world, which, like Christmas, didn’t last long enough either. Once again our home overflowed with the happy sounds of family, complete and with no one missing. Christmas came and went too fast that year. Like so many good things we anticipate, it was over before we were ready.
Then the good-byes were said, the older ones departed and those of us still at home prepared to return to school. Santa Claus surely brought me something that year, for even in those times my parents would not have let Christmas morning come without a surprise under the tree. It would have been something practical and useful, but not especially exciting to share with my third grade friends during "show and tell."
The first day back at school featured little boys and girls marching alphabetically to the front of the class with BB guns, skates, dolls and jump ropes. I sat quietly through each presentation, hoping that I might be overlooked altogether, only a little comforted by knowing that I was a "W." When my turn finally came, the buzzing undertone of voices hushed as I walked to the front of the room with nothing in my hands. Turning my back to the blackboard, I saw 33 questioning faces. Then I reached into my back pocket and withdrew four snapshots. Holding them high for everyone to see, I explained in a high, nervous voice how Santa Claus had gone all the way to California just to deliver my older brothers and sister home to me for Christmas, and here were the very pictures of these important people. Not much was said as I returned to my seat and everybody began comparing those photos with new bicycles and other tangible gifts. I sat down and kind, old Mrs. Smith cleared her throat and thanked me for sharing my special Christmas with the class.
It would be 20 years before our family had another Christmas like that, as we scattered across many lands. When we did gather again, the feelings were the same, only now the house was bursting with grandchildren, and Mama baked and cooked. We talked and laughed and visited until the early morning hours and shared our memories of Christmases past. As we reminisced, I could not recall most of the gifts I had received through the years, but I could never forget the photographs of that third grade Christmas. Realizing at last what they really represented, when it came time to take the pictures that year, I stood very still and smiled for the camera.

That was Mark's story. I hope your heart was as touched as mine and I hope that we all realize that time is the best gift we can ever give to our families. One of my greatest hopes is that I have given our children as many wonderful memories in their childhood as my parents gave me and that they will in return do the same for their families.

I wish all of you a wonderful family day. And to my sweet family-all 17 of you-how grateful I am to be wife, mother and grandmother to you. How grateful I am to Heavenly Father for the blessings of having you as my family. You have brought more joy and happiness into my life than I ever dreamed possible. I love you with all my heart.

PS: The flowers are from my sweet hubby and the card is from Jordan. It plays the song "I Will Survive." Those of you who knew Jordan as the sweet, active child that he was will appreciate the song. (Thank you Meagan.)