Keeping Christmas

I don't know where the phrase "keeping Christmas" originated. It sounds old to me, or at least old-fashioned.  I suppose "keeping Christmas" is what we would call "celebrating Christmas" these days. We all know what that involves: shopping, wrapping, baking, decorating, practicing, singing, worshiping, cooking, cleaning, traveling, visiting, eating. Gee, just typing all that out makes me tired! But hidden inside all those things is the reason for celebrating Christmas and it's oh, so important!

At our house, we're keeping Christmas this year

with decorations from childhood

and decorations we've chosen.

We're keeping Christmas with cherished recipes made once a year to keep them special,

and served on special dishes.

We're keeping Christmas with music: old familiar carols for playing,

and singing,

and listening to.

We're keeping Christmas with lights

 and candles.

We're keeping Christmas with gifts wrapped up for surprises.

But most of all, we're keeping Christmas with Jesus. It's His birthday, after all.

We're part of the faithful who come to adore Him.

Adoring this Gift from God, who saved us from our sins.

Adoring Him with music, food, family, gifts, and decor, all meant to "keep Christmas" in our hearts.

Yes, we're "keeping Christmas" at our house this year. It can be a lot of bother, but all the effort adds up to a heart full of everlasting joy, way down deep, where it matters most.

Whatever your traditions, I hope you're keeping Christmas at your house in some form or fashion.

It's a sweet season to behold!

Merry CHRISTmas!!

How Can I Keep From Singing?

I went to choir practice last night. I haven't done that in a very long time. Long ago, before the age of waning energy, elder care, and to-do list overload, I sang in the church choir. I even directed it for a few years. A really long time ago when I was young, I sang with a ceili band and we even made a record. But since the turn of the century, I haven't done much singing, with or without a choir or ceili band. Singing got pushed to the outer reaches of my life, where it has been wasting away for too long.

Folks are so kind - and persistent. They keep asking me to sing with the choir at church, if only for the annual Christmas cantata. They keep asking me to sing a solo for Sunday worship whenever I'd like to. And I would like to, but that same old challenge of making room in a busy schedule for practices has gotten the best of me. Sadly, I've let singing slip away, and it's almost beyond my grasp now. You see, a singing voice is one of those things that, if not used often, will eventually be lost. I haven't lost my voice completely yet, but I have lost some range and control. Only a lot of practice and effort will bring it back.

In the past couple of years, I've been working at getting my voice back. I sing while I'm driving. I sing or hum along with the radio while I paint at the farmhouse. But nothing replaces the exercise and discipline of singing with a choir, with regular practice being one of the best benefits. In addition to the vocal workout, the camaraderie of a choir is good for my soul, nourishing that part of me that longs to belong.

And so, I made time for Christmas cantata practice last evening. The music was a little overwhelming in places, and when the ladies' notes were too high I dropped down to sing with the men. But it felt good to be there, to sing with a group, to be a part of the choir again. It will still be a challenge to get to rehearsals - I probably won't make them all - and I hope no elder care emergencies interfere with the Sunday morning performance. But Christmas is coming and music has always been a gloriously necessary part of the season for me. What sweeter way to celebrate my Saviour's birth than to sing!!

Remembering

It's St. Patrick's Day, the day on which everyone can claim to be Irish. I, like millions of other Americans, do have some Irish blood in my veins, watered down a bit, I'm sure. My maternal grandmother was an Eskew, which was Askew only a generation before her. This family came from Ireland in the 1740s, I think. I have the straight razor that came over on the boat with that first Askew long ago. I also have some Scottish blood, along with who knows what else. Sometime between the arrival of my ancestors in the New World and my childhood, interest in our family's heritage went dormant. When I was a teenager that interest was awakened by a 4-H agent who treasured her own heritage and that of the mountain people of Appalachia.

Jane T. George and her husband, Frank, came to Monroe County some 35 years ago and stirred up the sleeping Celtic gene in a lot of us kids. It started with a folk dance team that progressed from simple square dances to English Contra, Scottish Country, and Irish set dances. There were also individual Scottish and Irish dances, along with traditional clogging, that built self-confidence along with pride in our heritage. Some of us went on to develop musical abilities by learning to play and sing Celtic music, even making recordings that were mildly popular among other Celtic enthusiasts.  Into our 50s now, some of us "kids" are still reveling in the many layers of fun, beauty, and mystery that make up the world of Celtic music and dance.

Why, do you suppose, in the mid-1970s did a bunch of typical teenagers in a small West Virginia community become hooked on something our friends considered old-fashioned and definitely uncool? Why did that first immersion into the Celtic world end up lasting into middle age and probably beyond? How has it survived in our busy lives, among jobs, families, and all those other adult responsibilites? Perhaps the answer lies in a quatrain written by former West Virginia poet laureate Louise McNeill in her book Gauley Mountain: A History in Verse.

                  I call no muse, for the sandaled foot
                  Should never tread where the brogan lumbers.
                  I have gulled the pith from a sumac limb
                  To play a tune that my blood remembers.

A tune that my blood remembers. Perhaps that explains why, after generations of family who paid little, if any, attention to their heritage, the wail of Highland bagpipes can bring tears to my eyes. Or why the driving beat of an Irish reel can make me giddy with joy, and my feet can't keep still. Or why the haunting melodies of Uillean pipes (think Titanic movie) make me long so deeply for something that I can never put my finger on.  And it probably explains why, among all the genres of wonderful music so easily available today, I still choose to spend my money and time on Celtic music. A tune that my blood remembers. What generations of ancestors have long forgotten, my blood remembers. And I'm so glad it does!

Oh, and a Happy St. Paddy's day to you, too!