Gifts

It is snowing.

Complicated little pieces of lacy ice are falling from the sky, even as I write this. Their brilliant uniqueness known only to those who can view them with a special microscope and to the One who set their design at the very beginning.

In all my 31 Christmases, I'd say maybe only 10 or 12 were the white ones that Bing croons about in a movie that really has nothing to do with Christmas.

Yet, for some reason, perhaps because it is snowing right now, they have a little extra sparkle in my memory, which tends to be more elaborate than the rest of my family's.

When I was 11 almost 12 our family spent a Christmas in snowy white Finland, visiting my grandfather. I have a mental movie reel of the whole trip in the attic of my mind.

See, there's my grandfather's yellow, two-story house. It's surrounded by a lot of snow. There are mounds of it 3 feet high where my sturdy grandfather shoveled.

Inside, the aroma of pastries, strong coffee and after shave fill the house. To this day, I love walking into Borders because the smell of the cafe is very similar.

The modest living room walls were bedecked with pictures and medals won in wars that I never studied about in school. The whole house had a very cozy feel, yet my grandfather was a bachelor, and it showed in his decor. Over on one side of the living room was a Christmas tree trimmed with hand made ornaments and real candles.

The upstairs was converted into a sort of apartment. My siblings and I thought this was the neatest part of the house. It had a little kitchen and some small beds, but the icing on the cake was this little alcove. I think it was a closet with a window where a few beds were tightly squeezed and a curtain was drawn across for privacy. But it seemed like a magical, secret room to us. The window was right at bed level (which was probably dangerous) but it was marvelous to just lie in bed and look out at the wintry world below. And with that little curtain drawn, it felt like I was in my own little place, apart from the world.

Down in the basement was a whole other story. It was dark, damp, cold and scary. Except for the sauna. Tradition and climate mandate that every Finn have a sauna in their home. Did you know that the sauna was invented in Finland? Spend a winter there and you'll understand why.

My pappa's sauna was in his basement. I remember lighting the fire with him in the old stove. I remember the fragrance of ceder mingled with smoke and birch with strong overtones of basement musk. When the stove was hot enough, my mom, sister and I would sit in the steamy sauna, then come out, have a few sips of cold Sprite and go back to sit and sweat.

Our family never had elaborate Christmases. Us kids never expected tons and tons of presents. This year particularly, as we were so far from home, my parents prepped us early on.

"Now, we're not going to get lots of presents this year. Our big present is to be here and be together." Or something along those lines.

Which was really fine with me. I was almost 12 after all. And I was enchanted with the snow, sauna, smells, special closet- room and my pappa.

My memories of him are fairly vague and probably skewed. He wasn't tall. He wasn't small either. His gray-white hair had receded and now was neatly trimmed and slicked back with pomade around his ears and neck. He wore glasses that fit on his petite nose and magnified his otherwise small gray-green eyes.

My pappa had been living alone for a long time when we went to visit him that Christmas. He was very independent and capable. I think he was also somewhat of a dreamer. And social. I understand he was a favorite with the neighborhood ladies. He was brave. I know that because of the medals he had on his wall.

He lived comfortably, though he didn't have a lot. He was a pack-rat. He kept SO many things in his closets. It was very exciting to discover the treasure that lay within.

He might have been stubborn. But I think he was a little lonely too.

He was happy to have us there that Christmas. I could feel it. He didn't speak English and I didn't speak Finnish, but his smiles and hugs told me I was welcomed and loved.

That Christmas eve I looked out through the window in that special little closet-room. Though the sky was dark, the snow sparkeled and shone in the lamp lights. I remember harboring a little longing for lots of presents. Even though I was 11 going on 12. But I was happy.

That morning we woke up to something I'll never ever forget.

Not in a million years.

The living room was flooded with presents. You could not see the floor at all. My parents were just as surprised as I was.

We started unwrapping. My mom laughed as we opened the multitude of presents. An old doll, an old book, someone's old purse. All treasures my pappa had collected over many years. I can't remember exactly how my younger sister and brothers reacted, but I remember recognizing the real gift. I was almost 12 after all.

My grandfather stayed up all night, finding and wrapping presents for us. Because he wanted us to be happy. He didn't have a lot. He gave us what he had. Those old toys, fur scarves and old evening bags were love. Which is exactly what our Father in Heaven gave us when He sent his Son, in a very humble setting. Love.

That special memory is wrapped in sparkling Finnish snow and tied together with the love my pappa gave us that morning. It's a gift I will never forget and will treasure forever.

Wishing You a
Happy Christmas
with love and fond memories
from our family
to yours.