Heirlooms

Up in the attic
Down on my knees
Lifetimes of boxes
Timeless to me

Letters and photographs
Yellowed with years
Some bringing laughter
Some bringing tears

Time never changes
The memories, the faces Of loved ones, who bring to me
All that I come from
And all that I live for
And all that I'm going to be
My precious family
Is more than an heirloom to me

Wiseman and shepherds
Down on their knees
Bringing their treasures
To lay at his feet

Who was this wonder baby yet king
Living and dying
He gave life to me
 
Time never changes
The memory, the moment His love first pierced through me
Telling all that I come from
And all that I live for
And all that I'm going to be
My precious savior
Is more than an heirloom to me

My precious Jesus Is more than an heirloom to me 

Once again you find me with a more obscure Christmas song, but again it is one of my absolute favorites from my childhood. The fact that I so fondly remember this song from my childhood, I think, adds to its depth of meaning for me. This song is in fact an Heirloom from when I was a kid, as much of this Christmas music is. We had a record player that we would put on as we decorated the tree, or sat in front of the fire, singing along together. Music bound my family together; even my sister and I, who didn't agree on much, mostly loved the same music. This song is about those moments. This song is about paging through old photo albums, unwrapping funky ornaments made of Popsicle sticks and yarn, and reading notes inscribed on cards from years past.

Christmas makes us nostalgic. Many of us spent many happy years enjoying the wonder of Christmas. We remember the joyous laughter, the happy tears, the beautiful traditions. We hold dearly to memories of picking out trees, baking our favorite treats, opening gifts on Christmas morning. We even find ourselves chuckling over the not-so-perfect Christmas moments; the wrong gift, the awkward family arguments about nothing at all, the bickering over whose turn it was to pick an Advent song. These good and bad moments shaped us, and something about the holiday reminds us to look back on these memories--some bringing laughter, some bringing tears.

While these moments are worn with time, colored with the loss of innocence adulthood brings, the memories carry with them these people who have pierced our hearts forever with love, with purpose, with definition of selves. The faces of loved ones who bring to me beauty, life, joy, a heart full of love. Christmas, a reflection on these heirlooms, these tiny pieces of tradition that live on, bring to mind those who have given those things to us. It is not about the heirlooms or the traditions themselves, but the faces and stories behind them.

Which is why I love the parallel Amy Grant draws between our Christmas heirlooms and the Christmas story. Wise men and Shepherds down on their knees bringing their treasures to lay at His feet. Who was this wonder baby yet King, living and dying He gave life to me. We page through the scriptures at this time of year, repeating the Advent story again to our children. I can quote the passage from Luke 2 I have heard it so many times. The shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night when an angel of the Lord appeared to them and told them not to fear. They came to bring good news of great joy that would be for all people. These words are imprinted on my memory, much like the photographs and heirlooms I piece through. The words live in my memory, painting a picture, evoking great joy.

We open the Advent story just as we open those boxes. We long for our hearts to be stirred back to a fondness for what we've lost through the long and arduous year. We need to be reminded of the joy found in this well-worn tale. Our hearts are in desperate need for us to revisit the wonder baby yet King. We need the awe, we need the miraculous, we need this Child King to stir our hearts to sing Glory to God in the Highest.

Ultimately it isn't about the story itself. It isn't about the shepherds keeping watch in the field, it isn't about the wise men following the yonder star, nor is it about the angels singing glory. These are the heirlooms that point our hearts back toward the miracle Child who brought hope to the world. It is about how Jesus lived and died and gave life to me.

In His coming, Jesus' love pierced through me. In the gift of Jesus, I know where I come from, I know what I live for, I know what I'm going to be. In hearing the story of Jesus, I know that I've come from a cursed line, a trail of woefully broken descendants, and I know that in Him I am free from that curse. In hearing the story of Jesus, I know that I will live for Him because He lived for me. In hearing the story of Jesus, I know who I am going to be, that someday I will live in a glorified body in a new heaven and a new earth. He is my past, He is writing my present, and He has written my future. In the gift of Jesus, my whole life makes sense. Christmas, this beautiful story of a Servant King, reveals my place in this world.

And so, more than just a small story about a baby boy, my precious Jesus is more than an heirloom to me.