The wind was blowing hard, gaining speed as it howled across the river. The Christmas lights that dangled from the ledge of our deck danced and sparkled in the ever growing squall. Night came early that day and I was glad that my family was home safely inside.

School vacation had begun and I had closed the store early. It was Christmas Eve. The snow blew harder as the hours passed. The boys watched Christmas shows on television and rearranged the presents that lay beneath the Christmas tree. They shook them and wondered what was inside; and then sorted them into four piles making them ready for the hand-out later that evening. Our sons were having a grand time, contemplating even more presents the next day.

The table was set and all were waiting for the meal to be served. “Scott, honey, would you put on some Christmas music?” I asked. Bing Crosby’s soft voice soon crooned a couple of old favorites, White Christmas, and Silent Night. We watched the snow whirl around the back yard as we took our places at the table. I said a prayer of thanks… and the lights went out.

“What?” I asked as I looked toward George, my husband. “What happened?” I stood.

George was ahead of me. “I’ll grab a flashlight.”

The boys stayed seated, thinking, how cool is this? George found the flashlight; it was dead. I could hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. “Well, as soon as I find some batteries, the electricity will be back on,” he mumbled. He kept digging through drawers.

“Mom, the kerosene lamps, aren’t they all ready to go?” Billy was out of his chair. Scott joined him and they felt their way around, searching for the lamps, lamps that my grandfather had used when he had a cabin, we called it a shanty, down on the Mississippi River bottoms.

“Yes,” I answered. “That would be great. Please be careful.” I found some matches and lit one so we could see. I followed the boys until they located two lamps. “Bring them out to the dining room.” I lit a second match. “Be careful so the kerosene doesn’t spill.”

George threw the flashlight into the drawer and joined us. “Here, I’ll light them.” The boys sat and watched, excited to be using an ancient implement to illuminate the darkness.

Shadows danced on the walls and ceiling after the lamps were lit. We settled around the table and enjoyed our Christmas Eve meal. “This is fun,” Scott said. “Let’s not turn the lights on even when the electricity is fixed.”

We agreed that it was magical to spend Christmas Eve in such a primitive way. After supper, we retired to the living room. A fire was started in the wood stove. Our house never felt cozier and we never felt more blessed. We opened our presents and later, the boys played board games by lamp light. It felt like we were in another world, a world without problems, a world without stress, and a world with love for each other and for those who were celebrating Christmas throughout all the earth.

Our sons remember that Christmas Eve. They agree that it was the best one that they have ever had, as children. Perhaps it was the protection from the worldly things on the outside—a small family taking the time to cherish the meaning of the special day that was about to be celebrated.

By Kathleen M. Brosius Copyright 2014