Tuesday, December 24, 2013

T'was the Night Before Christmas

I think one of my favorite Christmas traditions/rituals is the candlelight Christmas Eve service at church.  I love sitting in the dim sanctuary, singing Silent Night, while candles get lit one by one from a single flame.  By the end of the song, each member of the congregation is holding a lit candle.  It is so peaceful, and it nearly always makes me giggle.  This is why:

There is one Christmas Eve service in particular that is forever etched in my memory.  I was five or six at the time, and my parents felt I was too young to be entrusted with my own candle (they were right).  Megan, a friend of mine who is a year or so younger than me, was sitting further along the row from my family.  Her parents made a different choice on the candle front, and I was rather jealous. 

We were all singing Silent Night, and the candles were lit down my row, one by one.  A verse later, Megan lost concentration, got sleepy, or simply displayed the coordination of a typical four-year-old.  Her candle started to tip over, in the direction of her mother, Ann.  This was the mid-1980s.  Think fuzzy angora sweaters and giant hair, full of flammable hair products.

This is how I remember things happening, though it was probably a little less dramatic:  Ann's fuzzy sweater sleeve erupted into flame, and a fireball was racing up her arm, toward her giant, hair-sprayed 80s hair.  My dad leaped, Superman-like over the people sitting between our family and Ann, and beat the fire out with his bare hands.

I know that at this point I turned to my mom and said, "Mom, why is Dad hitting Ann?"

Ann escaped without any major burns, and with all her hair.  Megan was not allowed a candle of her own again for a few more years.  And I always picture an angora sweater erupting into flame when I sing Silent Night.

Tonight, I took my two-year-old son, Julian, to our church's Christmas Eve service.  It was a family-friendly service with bible lessons and lots of Christmas carols.  Also, no candles.  I think I'm okay with that, this year.