by Linda C. Raybern
I will never forget the Christmas of my seventh year. I was going to sing several carols with my classmates in the Christmas pageant at school. We had been practicing for about a month. A week before the pageant, my mother’s family had their Christmas celebration. Mother had been bragging about how I was to sing at school and I was cajoled into singing one of the carols for the Coulter clan gathered there.
Telling my aunt which carol to play, I sang out as sweetly and sincerely as only a seven-year-old can . . .
“Hark! Old Harold’s angel sings,
glory to the newborn King.
Peace on earth so mercy smiles’
cause God and reptiles reconciled . . .”
That is as far as I got because my aunt could no longer play the piano, she was laughing so hard. My uncle laughed so hard he spilled his drink on his lap and when he tried to mop it up; he lost his balance and slid out of his chair.
I was mortified. I had no idea why everyone was laughing at me. I burst into tears and ran upstairs to my bedroom crying. I really was surprised when my oldest and most straitlaced aunt came into my room. (I had always been a little afraid of her.) She tenderly took me in her arms and with loving words told me not to cry. Everyone was laughing because of the wonderful new words I had sung for that Christmas carol. And even though everyone else had learned it a different way, mine was so much better.
She kissed me and then washed my face and told me to come downstairs with her because there was a surprise waiting for me. Hand in hand we took the stairs down to the living room. Just as we got there, the music began to play and the whole Coulter clan began to sing my own words. As I stood listening to them sing my misconstrued version of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” I felt more loved than I ever had in my life.
My lips were still trembling as I stepped forward and began to sing. As my extended family sang carol after carol and arms slipped around each other in a warm familial glow, I realized Christmas wasn’t about festive decorations or the Christmas tree or even the gifts under it. Christmas was about love given freely and with joy.
As one of my older cousins gave me a squeeze and a smile, I was sure Hark, old Harold’s angel, was singing with us, and I had gotten the words right after all.
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