We all hold dear those heartwarming, highlighted Christmas days. Whether it was the first bike from Santa, the joy of our grandparents’ visit, or our baby’s first Christmas, these cherished memories never fail to warm our hearts.
Some of our Christmases were challenging, but I consciously choose not to dwell on them, especially when we celebrate the birth of hope. No matter how difficult a Christmas day may be, the birth of our savior instills in us the belief that a better day is always on the horizon.
When we lived outside Nashville, Tennessee, in a rented house on a farm, I was almost seven, and my brother was thirteen. My room was on the bottom floor, while my brother had a large dormer bedroom area upstairs.
John was a typical brother whose little sister drove him crazy. He called me “a pain” so many times I thought my name had changed. And yes, I was too often a handful.
My only sibling and I were quite different. He was born a mechanical engineer, and I was born with a question mark over my head. John always knew his life path, but I couldn’t find the road.
Erector sets, toolboxes, drafting papers, cars, and electrical components filled his room. There couldn’t be another thing- a-ma-jig- that he could add to bring more pleasure to his engineering mind. Yet, on that Christmas Eve at the farm, Santa left one more…. A shiny new Lionel train.
By the end of Christmas day, Dad and John had a table constructed out of plywood and sawhorses, the top of which was covered with green felt. It was placed in the center of his room, which meant all other things, including his twin bed, were pushed against the four walls.
Within a short time, the train traveled around and through trees, over bridges, and past farmland where barns and houses dotted the landscape. The train depot welcomed all who desired to visit the felt green grassland at the top of the stairs.
Each time I heard the train whistle, I ran up the steps so quickly because I wouldn’t miss a turn of the sleek engine pulling the cars that carried passengers to all parts of my imagination.
I knew to be quiet because engineering a train was serious, tedious work. My brother didn’t mind ‘the pain’ during those hours when his detailed work and my fantasy turned into a magical ride. The Christmas train symbolized our shared moments, bridging the gap between his practicality and my imagination and strengthening our bond.
That is when I first began my love of trains. When I was fourteen and my cousin Ann was fifteen, we traveled across the country on the Northern Pacific Railway to visit relatives. It took four nights before we reached Seattle. As the train journeyed through American towns, around mountains, and over bridges, my dreams became reality.
One day, John’s Lionel train was boxed up, and we moved away from the little farmhouse where Santa brought us so much joy. It was one of those spotlighted Christmas times that reminds me of a brother who did indeed become an engineer and still tinkered with toys and engines all his life.
In the small Tennessee town where we were born, trains once ran through downtown. The depot waved to all who traveled through and welcomed all who stayed. Years later, when the trains no longer stopped at the Monterey station, the depot became a small museum.
Long after my brother passed away, I returned to Monterey’s refurbished train station. It immediately reminded me of the depot at the top of the stairs in our farmhouse. I couldn’t help but wonder if John built the train depot to remind him of home.
In the middle of the museum building, under a glass case, I saw a replica of a village with a train like the one Santa brought, running around and through the trees, past farmlands, and stopping at the depot.
Some Christmases are genuinely magical. They leave an indelible mark on our hearts, bringing joy that lasts a lifetime. These cherished memories, gifts from God, are to be treasured, especially during times of solitude or when we long to feel the presence of a loved one who has departed.
As I watched the train run under the glass, I was transported back to being mesmerized by an older brother, the great engineer, who could build anything, including my imagination. However, it was not my imagination but the understanding that my brother was still with me, watching the train as its whistle blew.
This Christmas, may you find that place in your memory that puts a smile on your face, a song in your heart, and an appreciation for the love of family, both near and far.
May God bless and keep you always.
