Growing up in Beirut, Lebanon, Christmas gifts were reserved for children — and as the oldest, my gift‑receiving years ended the moment my youngest brother became a toddler. I remember walking to the store during the holidays to buy Matchbox cars for my little brothers at my mother’s request, even though I was still a child myself. One year, I received a doll. It was worn, clearly used, and my mother told me it “came from the war.” Living in a war zone, I didn’t ask questions. Instead, I made the doll beautiful clothes from scraps of fabric, hoping she would forget her past just as I tried to forget mine.

Christmas was still magical. We looked forward to midnight mass, long visits with extended family, my mother’s succulent Buche de Noel, and the kind of food that made the season feel abundant even when life was not. The magic had nothing to do with gifts — it lived in the closeness of family.

In November, we began preparing for the holiday by placing wheat and lentil grains on cotton and watering them daily. We checked them obsessively, announcing the first sprouts with excitement. By Christmas, they stood two to three inches tall, symbols of renewal placed lovingly under the tree. As the war dragged on and our artificial tree wore out, my brother found a dead tree. We wrapped its branches in aluminum foil and hung our ornaments. Today, the memory makes me cringe, but back then we thought it was the most beautiful tree in the world. We admired it in awe until the day we took it down.

I don’t know when the excitement of Christmas began to fade. Was it adulthood? Immigration? Distance from extended family? Likely all of the above.

Like many families — as you already know if you’ve read my book — ours was not perfect. After a difficult divorce, I raised my sons as a single mother. And just as I tried to help my Christmas war doll forget her past, I tried to create joyful Christmas memories for my boys. As they grew, I insisted on a private family Christmas: a delicious meal, nice clothes, church, talking, dancing, singing, eating — together.

In 2020, we couldn’t attend church or gather with my brothers’ families due to Covid, but my children and my mother came to the house. There were a few gifts, but Christmas wasn’t about gifts. It was about us.

Now Daniel and Michael have children of their own. I hope they recreate the magic of Christmas for them — visiting each other, gathering close, and someday smiling as they remember their own childhood holidays.

May you feel the childhood magic of Christmas throughout 2021 and beyond. Wishing everyone a safe, healthy new year.

Christmas Family Photos

Homemade Food

Decoration

Christmas related blog post to check out next:

• Riverbanks Zoo Wild Lights, Columbia SC
• Christmas 2020 musings
• Daniel Stowe Holidays at the Garden
• James Island County Park, SC Festival of Lights
• Buche De Noel
• Brookgreen Gardens, SC – Nights of a Thousand Candles
• Christmas Town USA, NC
• Old Town Rock Hill, SC

Musing posts you might be interested in

• Walk for Peace
• 60th Birthday Musings
• Embracing Life’s Beauty on Thanksgiving
• A message of gratitude to my Father
• Gratitude for my Mother on Mothers Day
• SC Backyard Bird Count 2020
• SC Backyard Bird Count 2022
• SC Backyard Bird Count 2023
• Defining career success
• Christmas Musings 2020
• Great Conjunction Jupiter and Saturn 2020
• Ready for life after Covid
• Easter Traditions
• Pandemic reflections
• Thoughts on Beirut’s Port Explosion