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By Barry Buzza
 A friend of mine told me a story a while ago that illustrated the meaning of Christmas to me. He's about my age so his reflection hit home.
Curtis was about seven or eight back in the early 1950's. He'd crawled into bed on Christmas Eve and was so excited that he couldn't sleep. He pretended to be asleep until his parents had kissed him goodnight and gone to bed themselves. When he figured they were sleeping, about 2:00 a.m. he crept downstairs.
There, under the brightly decorated spruce Christmas tree he spied his and his brother's presents. He first saw a drum set with his name on it-and wanted desperately to play it, but didn't dare, lest he wake up his mom and dad.
There was also a neatly wrapped box with his name on it. Curtis ripped the gift open and was thrilled to find a twin set of six-shooters and holsters. He quickly strapped the guns on his waist and practiced his draw.
After playing for several minutes, my friend headed for the old wool stockings hanging over the mantle. As usual, there was a Dell comic book sticking out the top. Inside Curtis found candies, nuts and a Japanese orange. As he was gobbling down the candy, he suddenly heard a noise-he turned toward the door and saw his dad standing there!
For a fleeting moment, he was afraid-but when he saw his dad's big smile, he realized that he was not going to be punished.
His dad settled into a big recliner and listened as Curtis described everything he'd opened. He showed his dad how fast he could draw the six shooters, and even offered to share the remaining treats with him.
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Sleep soon overcame him, and his dad picked the boy up, carried him to his bed and lovingly tucked him in. The next morning they had a wonderful Christmas, but Curtis said to me, "I'll never forget that Christmas Eve!"
. . . the years flew by . . .
He and his dad were together again. His dad, by then, was weak with cancer. His mom had passed away a few years before and so that Christmas the two were alone.
Because of various treatments he'd undergone, his body was down to about a hundred pounds and was in great pain.
Despite his weakened condition, the old man asked his son if he could shave and dress him so he could be there to watch Curtis' family open presents. After he did that he carried his dad down to the living room where the family waited.
His dad sat for almost 15 minutes before his eyes filled with tears from the pain of his disease; he then asked his son to take him back to bed. Curtis gathered his once strong father up into his arms and lovingly tucked him into his bed.
He said to me, "As I made my way to his bedroom, I recalled the night many years before, when he'd carried me to my bedroom after our private Christmas Eve celebration. Now it was my turn to carry him."
Both Curtis and I were in tears as he finished his story. My dad too, passed into his eternal reward this year, so I related well to his experience. "Two days after Christmas," he continued, "my dad died. But the memories, although they make me cry, are happy ones."
Christmas is a good time to reflect back and thank God for our parents. Whether they were entirely successful or not, we are here today because of them.
Barry Buzza, www.barrybuzza.com a veteran pastor, is also the president of the The Foursquare Gospel Church of Canada. www.foursquare.ca
December 21/2007
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