A Christmas of Little Delights

“…I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.” 

—Dylan Thomas, A Child’s Christmas in Wales [1]

Imagine Christmastime in Minnesota in the 1960s. Glorious, frigid winters requiring layers of protection, including hat, mittens, and a scarf knit by my Gramma, thick wool jacket, and finally, slipping my feet into snowmobile boots. Those boots kept my toes toasty warm on the mile-long walk to the school bus. Those clunky, black boots were worn to church too, then switched out for dress shoes as soon as I walked through the arched doors. (No one considered fashion sensibilities with a windchill of minus 20 degrees.)

December promised one festive event after another; church Christmas pageant and school concert rehearsals filled our days. The first Saturday of the month was dedicated to choosing the perfect fragrant tree from the Dairy Queen parking lot. We trimmed our tree on Mom’s birthday, December 9, and Dad festooned our snow-shrouded shrubbery with heavy, colored-glass bulbs. Gifts were wrapped and placed under the tree, Mom addressed the Christmas cards, and we baked dozens of cookies. And at some point during December, I would search the TV Guide to find out the broadcast times for Charlie Brown Christmas, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and the festive musical variety shows. 

Then the big night finally arrived! On Christmas Eve, we would drive to the farm where my mom was raised—and where my grandparents still lived. Dad started the car and let it run for a few minutes to warm up; in the meantime, Mom placed the gifts in a box and I packed the sugar cookies in the white Tupperware container. We drove in the midwinter twilight, past tall snowdrifts lining the road and glowing farmyard lights. The AM radio station would crackle a bit (especially if the weather was unsettled) while Perry Como and Bing Crosby crooned in the background. 

When we pulled into the snowy farmyard, Toby the collie ran out to greet us, snow stuck to his long fur, excited for guests to guide to the door. Preparations for the traditional dinner of fried shrimp, oyster stew, and potato salad began. Gramma fussed over the heated oil, adjusting the temperature to prevent burning the shrimp. After dinner, all the plates had to be washed and the kitchen cleaned before one gift was opened, but I set out the stacks of gifts by each chair and waited for everyone. Mom was an only child and so am I, so we made the most out of every minute. 

Dad filmed the festivities with his movie camera, catching every moment he could before his film reached the end. Many gifts were yearly traditions; Grampa was always pleased with his chocolate-covered cherries, Gramma was happy with her magazine subscription and a new wash dress. Christmas Eve was quiet and routine, with a small silvery aluminum tree and the television tuned down to a whisper. Farm chores required early mornings, so we said goodnight.

We closed out the rest of Christmas Eve in town with my Dad’s family, which was a completely different experience.

The tiny house was filled with cousins, aunts, uncles, and noise; the coffee pot was perpetually filled with what my grampa called “Norwegian Speed,” and plates stacked with cookies and Danish breads.

The television was always blaring and my younger cousins perched on the couch, arguing about what to watch. 

I remember the program we all agreed on to watch on Christmas Eve 1968. We were told that astronauts really would fly in space and visit the moon and maybe even talk to us. The NASA lunar space program was during the same time in history as the Vietnam War. Radio broadcasts were filled with war updates and TV news streams showing film clips of the horrors of a far-away jungle war and protests at home in America. I was only six, but those images were burned into my memory. I remember polarizing disagreements about the war and politics between family members, even overhearing about the death of a soldier from our area. These were big concepts for a child to comprehend, scary and sad, but that reality was removed from my world. However, we could all share in common wonder at the idea of men in space.

I remember our entire family crowding around the television in silence as we witnessed the broadcast of Apollo 8. Astronauts Bill Anders, Jim Lovell, and Frank Borman were aboard the spacecraft suspended above the moon’s surface. We were transfixed by the photographic images of the moon, a mere spot in the sky to us if we stood in the snowy yard in small-town Minnesota. 

Frank Borman once recounted that, “We were told that on Christmas Eve we would have the largest audience that had ever listened to a human voice…and the only instructions that we got from NASA was to do something appropriate.” The astronauts chose to read Genesis 1:1–8 as they gazed at the “earthrise” of our little planet from their orbit of the moon. The following is a transcript of the astronauts’ narration—what we heard that night so long ago.

ANDERS: We are now approaching a lunar sunrise, and for all the people back on earth, the crew of Apollo 8 has a message that we would like to send to you. 

“In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void. And darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good, and God divided the light from the darkness. 

LOVELL: “And God called the light ‘day,’ and the darkness He called night. And the evening and the morning were the first day. And God said, ‘Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters. And God made the firmament and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament. And it was so. And God called the firmament Heaven and the evening and the morning were the second day.” 

BORMAN: “And God said, ‘Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together unto one place. And let the dry land appear. And it was so. And God called the dry land Earth and the gathering together of the waters called He seas. And God saw that it was good.”

And from the crew of Apollo 8 we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you, all of you on the good earth.”[2]

There we sat, in that small living room, amongst wrapping paper and presents, trying to take in what we had witnessed. That evening we soaked in true awe of three men in a small spaceship who were looking at our swirled-blue-marble planet. They were reading Bible verses to us, to all the world. We gazed back through a square screen. Our view intersected the astronauts’ view, a moment so transcendent that we could scarcely comprehend. And for those few minutes, we saw and heard something bigger and more beautiful than we could imagine. We turned our minds from the wars and rumors of wars (Matt. 24:6), and our words away from the ugliness of political arguments, and turned our eyes to look in one direction—up. Heavenward. Facing the God who created the planets and hung the stars. And everyone around the world who heard that humble, two-minute reading from God’s word witnessed in wonderment just as Bethlehem’s shepherds stood in astonishment of the heavens nearly two thousand years before.

Dear reader, remember to cherish the little gifts of warm cookies, frosty nights, pretty ribbons, festive songs and movies, and an embrace from a loved one during this Christmastide. Then turn your gaze to the heavens, stars, and the moon—to the One who created the heavens and the earth, who is eternal, unshaken, and true. Imagine the angels who call to you to “Fear not!” (Luke 2:10). And always be amazed in this holy season.

“I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steadily falling night…I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.”

—Dylan Thomas, A Child’s Christmas in Wales [3]

[1] Dylan Thomas, A Child’s Christmas in Wales (David R. Godine Publisher, 1980), 6.

[2] This official NASA website has the actual recording of the astronauts reading the Genesis story on that Christmas Eve night. May it ignite wonder and your imagination! https://www.nasa.gov/missions/apollo/apollo-8-christmas-at-the-moon/

[3] Dylan Thomas, 45.

The featured image is courtesy of Steve Moon and is used with his kind permission for Cultivating.

Annie Nardone

Annie Nardone is a lifelong bibliophile with a special devotion to the Inklings and medieval authors. She is a Fellow with the C.S. Lewis Institute and holds an M.A. in Cultural Apologetics from Houston Christian University. Annie is the Director of Visual Artists for The Cultivating Project and columnist for Cultivating Magazine. She is founding board member, managing editor, and author for the apologetics quarterly, An Unexpected Journal. Her writing can also be found as travel blogger for Clarendon Press U.K., with published poems at Calla Press and Poetica.

She holds a MA in Cultural Apologetics from Houston Christian University, and is a Fellow with the C.S. Lewis Institute. Annie writes for Cultivating, Literary Life, and Clarendon House Books, and is a managing editor and writer for An Unexpected Journal. Annie collaborated on three books in 2022, published by Square Halo Books and The Rabbit Room. She recently designed a curriculum detailing the intersection of theology, the arts, and history and is a Master Teacher for HSLDA. She resides in Florida with her Middle Earth/Narnia/Hogwarts-loving family, and an assemblage of sphynx cats and feline foundlings.

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