The Spirit of Christmas
Image by anitaaustvika from Unsplash
Christie
Her heart sank as she watched her daughter, Lydia, and two sons quietly eating their breakfast at the kitchen table. With Christmas nearing, she had yet to buy any gifts. Finances were tight; illness and other unexpected expenses had eaten away most of their savings. Her husband had taken as many extra shifts as he could on the assembly line just to make ends meet.
“Is Daddy working again?” her eldest son asked with a hint of sadness.
“Yes,” she answered simply.
“But it’s Saturday and—” he began to complain but halted under her stern gaze.
The neighbor’s teenage daughter arrived to babysit, and Christie left the house to shop. She would need to be creative. At the mall, she mingled with the throng of last-minute shoppers and navigated the crowded stores but left without buying anything.
She drove across town and wandered through a secondhand shop where she picked out some clothes, a vintage board game, a few pre-loved toys, and other knickknacks for gifts. After she selected clothes for the Christmas Eve candlelight church service and paid for the other items, she left the shop with a heavy heart.
Lydia
On the day of Christmas Eve, little Lydia sat at the kitchen table, giggling as she squeezed cookie dough between her fingers. She rolled out the dough with her mother and cut the cookies into the shapes of stars, Christmas trees, and snowmen.
Once they were baked and cooled, her brothers joined Lydia in decorating them with icing and sprinkles. They laughed together as they alternated between smearing icing on the cookies and licking it from their fingers.
Lydia jumped off her chair when her father walked through the front door. She ran into his arms, and his weary face relaxed into a smile as he hugged her tightly. “Merry Christmas Eve, Daddy! You’re just in time for cookies.”
After dinner of soup and Lydia’s favorite, grilled cheese sandwiches, her father retrieved the Christmas tree from the garage and set it up. Her brothers wrangled cardboard boxes full of ornaments from the attic, nudging each other playfully. They set the boxes around the living room floor.
Lydia and her mother stringed popcorn and cranberries, as was their tradition. Her father and brothers cut colorful construction paper into strips and stapled them together, creating a long paper chain. They retrieved lights and ornaments from the boxes and decorated the tree while munching on cookies.
Later that night, Lydia caressed the soft green fabric of the dress her mother had bought for her and spun gleefully in circles. She joined her brothers, clean and handsome in their own new clothes, in piling into the car.
Lydia squealed in delight at the Christmas lights that adorned the houses as they drove through the neighborhood. They arrived at the live nativity on the courthouse lawn, where she greeted Joseph and Mary and chuckled at the sight of the donkey and sheep.
En route to the church, they sang “Jingle Bells” and “Deck the Halls”. At the service’s conclusion, Lydia was allowed to hold her own candle for the singing of “Silent Night”.
She woke as the sun rose on Christmas morning, slipped out of bed, and tiptoed down the hallway. With her slippers askew, she unsuccessfully sidestepped the squeaky floorboards as she made her way to the living room to gaze at the colorful packages under the tree.
The scent of pine enveloped her as the tinsel on the tree shimmered in the first light of dawn peeking through the front windows. Lydia rested her head against the doorframe, envisioning fairies dancing among the tinsel.
Christie
The squeak of the floorboards woke Christie. She smiled to herself, knowing it was little Lydia sneaking down the hall. Yet, her happiness faded as she remembered what the presents would be like.
She rose and tiptoed down the hall, watching her daughter gaze in wonder at the tree. Lydia turned to her and exclaimed, “Mommy, isn’t it beautiful? Your eyes are sparkling just like the tinsel!”
Christie discreetly dabbed tears from her eyes, crossed the living room, and turned on the Christmas tree lights. Lydia’s gasp of wonder filled the air, and Christie turned to enjoy her daughter’s cherub smile. Her heart fluttered as she embraced Lydia. They snuggled together on the couch and waited for the others to wake up.
Lydia
The happy chaos began when Lydia’s grandparents arrived with Granny’s special treats. As she always did, her mother sat on the floor and passed out the gifts. She did not look very happy, and Lydia wondered why.
Lydia enthusiastically opened her gift and was thrilled to find dishes and clothes for her baby dolls. “Thank you, Mommy,” she squealed.
The neighbors dropped by for breakfast, bringing along steaming hot chocolate. Lydia enjoyed the cinnamon rolls her mother made, greedily licking the icing from her fingertips. As was tradition, she snuggled between her grandparents while the family watched A Christmas Carol.
There wasn’t as much food for the Christmas feast this year, but Lydia didn’t mind because it was delicious. The fits of laughter and camaraderie as the family played the board game from under the tree filled her with joy.
At the end of the night, Lydia climbed onto the couch and laid her head on her mother’s lap. Lydia asked softly, “Mommy, are you okay?”
Her mother replied with a shake of her head, “I’m sorry this Christmas was less grand than usual.”
Lydia responded eagerly, barely pausing to take a breath, “No, Mommy! It was grand and marvelous. I loved my present and everything else. Daddy was here, and so were Granny and Grandad. That was the best part! We laughed a lot, played games, decorated cookies, visited the manger, and sang Christmas carols in the car.”
She exhaled and relaxed into her mother’s embrace with a sigh.
Christie
Her heart lifted, then she hugged her daughter tight and let the tears of happiness flow.
Looking for more wholesome holiday reads? Check these out!
- A Christmas Eve Wish – Christmas Eve Poem
- Gingerbreading – My Favorite Things
- Fireplace for Your Home – Christmas Essay
- Running Into Holiday Tradition: Jingle Bell Runs – Fitness for Creatives
Brenda Cox
Brenda Cox grew up in a small suburb in the United States but has lived most of her adult life in Asia, where she served as a humanitarian aid worker. She began writing later in life to vent and to help make sense of the world. Brenda now enjoys writing fiction, especially very short stories. Recently, she has had several of her stories published in literary journals, including Macrame Literary Journal, Cranked Anvil (Micro Monday), The Polk Street Review 2025 Anthology, and the MockingOwl Roost Literary Magazine. Brenda is retired and resides in Europe with her husband of forty-two years.
Find more from Brenda on her website.
