The cold darkness outside the house seemed to increase the warmth and brightness inside as the ladies laid out their dishes and serving spoons in the dining room and chatted in the kitchen.  The appetizers were already disappearing and undergoing discussion as the women exchanged recipes and tips, dabbing crackers into warm cream cheese dips and jewel-like pepper jellies.

As the conversation progressed, it gradually stepped down memory lane, and the women spoke of Christmases past, when others had gathered with them at this and other homes over the years.  They remembered those who were missing, the hostesses of the generation before.  Some of them were homebound or in nursing homes; others had passed on to glory.

The women’s voices grew more solemn as they remembered.  They spoke of a tragedy that struck one December when college students who had become dear members of the church died in an accident while on break.  Several of the mothers spoke of children they had lost but never forgotten.  Their eyes shone brightly as they remembered and held a hand here or gave a hug there.  You could tell they had been through so much, and much of it together.  They were a sisterhood, sharing a bond formed over years and memories and moments like these.

Gradually, the conversation shifted to brighter stories, and the ladies laughed over mocha chocolate punch and a delicious meal.  Then, gathering up the dishes and putting them in the sink, they reassembled in the living room for their favorite activity of the night, an unscrupulous game of Dirty Santa.  But first, a handful of the women took turns leading the group in prayer and Scripture reading, and one of them suggested that everyone take turns sharing a Christmas memory or tradition.  And they reminisced about favorite foods, silly traditions, special last Christmases, and special first Christmases, with laughter and eyes sometimes shining a little as the occasional tissue made an appearance.

Then, Dirty Santa began in earnest, and only one or two members of the group who gripped their prized gifts with a pitiable look of desperation successfully kept others from repossessing the prizes.  Generally, there was no pity from this bunch.  Dirty Santa was a serious matter, after all.

Once Dirty Santa was over, the women began grazing the dessert table before bundling up, gathering their empty dishes, and heading back into the cold night, leaving the sparkling warmth a lingering memory of the past, stored up to be treasured in future days and at Christmases to come.

They carefully carried their dishes, gifts, and memories out into the night, just as they carried on the legacy of the women who had come before, who inspired them still, and whose Christmas spirit and stories would be present at gatherings for years to come.