The Christmas Rocker

December always bullies its way into my life. When holiday events and lists begin to scramble my brain, I recall a simpler Christmas . . . the year of the rocker.

Our financial situation was bleak in December of 1967. As married students, we were juggling classes, jobs and the uncharted status as expectant parents. Dan had a job cleaning restrooms in the university library from 4-7 every morning. I worked part-time as a grocery checker. By late November, I was eight months pregnant and exhausted. The only thing I wanted for Christmas was the arrival of our baby. But Dan wanted a full-blown celebration. Our budget didn’t allow a tree, so he claimed a small one that had been abandoned on the curb by a fellow student who was going home for semester break. He splurged on a set of lights and concocted a tree stand from an old angel food cake pan.

Next came strings of popcorn, construction paper chains and egg shell "balls." Instead of a star on top, a tufted cloud of cotton cradled a little blue angel, the symbol of our baby’s safe arrival. The whole contraption balanced uneasily on a cedar chest. It would have made a window decorator recoil in disbelief, but somehow, this tree defied a price tag. We carefully arranged a few baby items around the base of the tree. Christmas packages from our families poked between the diapers and undershirts. No cedar chest ever displayed more hope.

The days before Christmas sludged along. We were sure my swollen frame would never carry its burden to Christmas Day. But Christmas Eve came and lingered, and even the flashing holiday lights along our street couldn’t wait up for the baby to arrive. At last, they abruptly stopped blinking, and we gave up and went to bed.

We awoke on Christmas morning realizing that the gift no material trimming could match wasn’t going to be delivered. I got up and tottered to the kitchen for some breakfast. On the way, I glanced into our tiny living room and beheld the most beautiful, sturdy, new rocker I had ever seen. The baby might have been delayed, but we owned a piece of furniture!

We sandwiched a lengthy game of Monopoly in between layers of taking pictures of each other rocking in the chair while peering lovingly into a baby quilt we had propped up with air. We paid for the rocker in six installments of $5.00 each . . . a memorable process. But it wasn’t the rocker or the lengthy payments that made the Christmas of 1967 memorable. It was the anticipation of a new life that would carve a new dimension into our marriage and make us a family.

Our Christmas gifts have changed over the years, but the message of Christmas remains the same . . . God’s gift of life to his children is the most precious gift of all. "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." John 3:16