By Rebecca Holloway
As a child, one of my favorite days of the year was my mom’s annual Sunday school Christmas party.
I grew up in a very small church. I’m talking a good day was 50 people. However, when I was a small child, the party was just her class of older ladies that she taught. The older I got, more and more of those ladies went on to heaven, and the party started being all the ladies of the church plus some of our family.
Now lest you think this was your ordinary Sunday school event, it so was not. It was the biggest happening of my mom’s entire year. She spent days and days cleaning and decorating the house. She spent all day the day of the party making cornbread dressing. There were dishes to be brought out that we never used except at Christmas. There were pickles to be placed on just the right slotted tray. There were bottle Cokes to be chilled. There was coffee to be made by my cousin Bobbie. And what to wear? Oh goodness, the right Christmas sweater must be chosen. The candles had to be lit. Everything must be just so.
The ladies would arrive, and I would be waiting on them at the back door. Usually, I had been waiting for a while, because, as I mentioned, I was so excited! I would take their coats and tell them where to put their side dishes or desserts they had prepared – either on the kitchen bar or the dining room table. By the time all the ladies arrived, both would be full.
After eating a lovely meal of all the Christmas yummies you could think of, the ladies would adjourn to the living room in parents’ home where they would make fruit baskets for those of the church who were in the nursing home. There was much sorting of fruit, hand lotion, and candies. Finally, the baskets were carefully wrapped up, and the decision of who was taking what where was made. After that, someone would give a short devotional and the Christmas story was read out of Luke 2.
My job as a child was to make the numbers to be taped onto the gifts for the gift exchange. Every year, all the ladies would bring a small, $5 gift. I would carefully tape a number on the gift (Written legibly, of course. One year I didn’t write legibly, and it caused a huge to-do. I got in bad trouble.), and then place a number in a bowl. Later, the ladies would draw a number from the bowl to see what gift they had gotten. It was also my job to pass around the bowl and to hand out the gifts. Big stuff when you’re a little kid. And the best part of it all was that every once in a while, someone would bring me a gift, too. I still have one of them. A lady named Dorothy had painted a ceramic Raggedy Ann doll ornament and gave it to me in 1980. It is hanging on my tree today.
After the party was over, Mom would take the annual picture. The ladies would groan initially, but after some prodding and arranging themselves in front of our fireplace, the picture would be taken. Sometimes, Mom would even pass out copies to all the ladies who attended, so they, too, could remember the night. She would also take pictures of those who were related. There are some gems of my mom, Bobbie, and me that I treasure to this day.
The party was a yearly tradition in our house until my mom started the downward spiral of diabetes in about 2006. We hated to see to see it go, but Mom was in no shape to put on a party. Stewart and I were having our own parties by then. Stewart was pastoring a church by that time, and it’s part of the pastor’s wife “thing” to throw a party. We’ve thrown some good ones over the years. And I never would have been able to do it without the vast experience in party throwing I had as a child watching my mom.
Today I am getting ready for our college ministry Christmas party. It’s nowhere near the almost-formal affair of my mom’s parties, but it’s still a big deal. I can’t ever do it without a tear in my eye, thanking God for all of those years of Mom’s Christmas parties. I hope her legacy lives on every time we celebrate.
Rebecca Holloway is the wife of Stewart Holloway, pastor of First Baptist Church in Pineville.
