​Dear RCC family,
 
You’re receiving this “Note from the Family” as part of our celebration of the birth of Christ. It’s an opportunity for you to enjoy a Christmas memory with a member of your RCC family.  Thanks to David Colvin for sharing his warm memory of a childhood Christmas!
  
   I was six years old that Christmas of 1936--my birthday had been just four weeks earlier on November 22. My name is David. I lived with my Mother and Father, three sisters and one brother--Rebecca, Martha, Ruth and James—in my Grandmother’s house. It was a rambling farm-house, cool in the summer, icy cold in winter. And yes, we all had been given biblical names, a fact in which my mother took great pride!
      The Christmas tree had been in place in our living room for a week and, in our eyes, was beautiful. It was a cedar tree, about six feet tall which was decorated with an assortment of ornaments which had been used and added to over the years. The finishing touches were gold and silver colored roping wrapped around the tree and icicles hanging from the individual branches. The tree stand was covered by a white sheet which looked like snow. There were no colorful lights on the tree because electricity had not reached our part of Kentucky yet and would not come for another three years. Illumination was by kerosene lamps.
     Christmas Eve was a happy time of anticipation of what would come on Christmas morning. We placed our presents for each other under the tree and laid out our empty stockings for Santa Claus to fill (mine was one of those long, tan, cotton stockings that all children wore at that time). We usually had some chocolate fudge or hot chocolate as a special treat. Of course, out Daddy would usually come in with a story of how Santa Claus was sick or had been hurt in a collision of his sleigh with a truck, and that he might not be able to come that night, but we knew better!! So off to bed we went.
      I should explain this ritual. Since the only heat in our house was by open fireplaces, the bedrooms were not heated and were cold—very cold. To remedy this situation we would warm a small blanket in front of the fireplace and then make a dash to our bed where we would wrap our feet in the warm blanket and pull the covers—usually five or six blankets or quilts over our heads. Then, literally, “visions of sugar-plums” would dance in our heads.
      On Christmas morning the house was a-buzz with excitement. Each of us tried to be the first one to say “Merry Christmas, Christmas gift”, and we all went into the living room together. It was obvious immediately, Santa Claus HAD been there! There were more beautiful packages under the tree and I could see a slate and a “Big Little” book and a shirt which was for me. My stocking was filled with fruit and candy and nuts. But before we examined our presents my sister, Dorothy Rebecca said she wanted to read us a story, and she did. She opened our family Bible and read us the story of Joseph and Mary and the birth of Jesus, and the star, and the shepherds, and the Kings, and the wise men and the gifts and… And at age six I probably didn’t fully understand the meaning of the story. But now, 80 years later, I understand that God gave us the greatest gift of all—a Savior. Now, when I hear the word “Christmas” warm thoughts of love, family, joy, giving, relationships and God come rushing to my mind.
      I have many other Christmas memories, but this one is special.
 
Merry Christmas!
 
David Colvin

Dear RCC family,

You’re receiving this “Letter from the Family” as part of our celebration of the birth of Christ. It’s an opportunity for you to enjoy a Christmas memory with a member of your RCC family.  Thanks to Louise Eaton for sharing an inspirational and international Christmas moment.

I think I learned the power of an invitation most strongly on Christmas Eve, 1975. I lived in a small village just outside of Paris. I had left home alone by choice and had already been away some seven months, plenty of time to face down homesickness, but, of course, the holiday brought with its sweetness an increased sense of isolation and distance from loved ones. The French scholastic holidays meant I did not even have work to distract me. My method of coping was either trips into Paris or long walks around my village. At 8 p.m. it was already too late for Paris, as all the trains stopped running by midnight, and so bundled against the cold, I set out for a solitary walk.
Around three corners from the small school where I had an apartment, at just about the only significant intersection in town, the small Catholic church sat across from a café and a small shop, across from the little train station. As I approached it, I met several of my students, standing out in the cold, holding the halters of a motley collection of animals, two sheep, a goat, a calf, and one dog as big as a pony. They greeted me:  “Joyeux Noël.” Dragging their animals with them, they came up and shook my hand, the traditional French show of respect for teachers, and began talking to me rapidly in a mix of French and poor English. The gist: they were awaiting their cues to enter the church for their roles in the Christmas pageant—the shepherds’ adulation of the baby born in Bethlehem. 
“Quick,” they told me, “you just have time to sneak into the back before the show starts.” One of the boys, Jean-Yves, handed off his goat to another to hold and took my hand and led me into the small church (smaller than RCC!) and seated me to the left, whispering that I would have the best view of him from there.
I had not dared even to enter this little church before, feeling intrusive, going instead to English-language services or traditional Latin masses in Paris where I was always left alone, lost in a crowd. The entire congregation turned to look at me, and I smiled and nodded. I only knew their children who were in my English classes, but they all knew me. Above the small organ, I heard murmurs of Christmas greetings. They had literally pulled me in off the street. While my French was then barely adequate, the familiar story unfolded before me without any translation needed, accompanied by hymns, many of the familiar too.
Such a small thing, a greeting and an invitation. My clearest memory of that night was walking home an hour or two later, filled with good food from the small buffet in the parish hall after the pageant. It was colder than it had been earlier, I was just as alone as before, and the apartment I entered was still empty, but I felt neither the cold nor the solitude. My entire being was suffused with Christmas spirit, a sense of the blessing of that amazing gift, and of celebrations worldwide as well as at home, sharing the same awe in hundreds of languages.  I was invited in from the cold, not just by my students and the local parish, but by love of God. I hope you feel and share that invitation this year.
Merry Christmas!
Louise