Growing up, my house was a place that welcomed everyone with open arms, where my friends loved to hang out, where people seemed to always be coming and going. They came for my mother’s famous chocolate chip cookies, they came for my father’s impromptu guitar sing-a-longs, they came for the crazy-people-hanging-from-the rafters, happy noise and loving chaos that permeated every corner of whatever house we called home at the time. Service and giving were not taught as specific lessons, carted out to impress young minds in December and all but forgotten about by January first, but rather were a part of the fabric of our lives. If someone needed money, or food, or a roof over their heads – my saw my parents give to the fullest extent they were able at the time. Always, without question. I had a blessed childhood, full of laughter, physical affection, love and sound, caring and (most importantly) trusting guidance from parents who expected me to know and speak my own mind.

In this childhood home of mine, tradition reigned supreme. Special occasion tradition, normal mundane every day tradition. Events took place in a wonderfully predictable way that you could plan on and count on and gain comfort from. Rituals involved food, religion, games, events, family and friends. For every holiday (but most especially Christmas) there were special things planned, special food to make, and special things to do. Our Christmas traditions grew and changed over time just as our family grew and changed. When we were little my father would read us the Christmas story from our big Children’s Bible on Christmas morning, stockings could be opened first (in pyjamas) but the rest of the presents had to wait till we were dressed and our parents were awake. The emphasis was not on the gifts (except for a few of my particularly greedy adolescent years) but on the wonder of the day itself. We got one gift from Santa, one from our parents, and a stocking full of wonderful surprises. We were never dirt poor, but money was never in great abundance either. We made gifts for family and friends, decorated our tree with a mix of ornaments, many lovingly handmade with great care by my mother or crudely crafted by us kids. We cut down our tree, we welcomed friends to our house after the Christmas Eve Church service for food and music and laughter. We ate a huge Christmas dinner with special fizzy slush to drink and a heavenly frozen concoction called Drumsticks for desert. We welcomed my Muslim friend Ayesha to Christmas dinner one year, danced to Christmas tunes played on an ancient accordion by an even more ancient Polish man another year. We went tobogganing and ice skating, we lit the advent candles in church, we stood together on Christmas Eve, listening as my father led the church in a candlelight rendition of ‘Silent Night’ usually trying to escape the ceaseless teasing of my younger brother Andrew.

No – my life was not always perfect, and yes – it is easy to see the past with rose coloured glasses. But mostly, it was good. My memories of childhood, especially around Christmas, are filled with magic and warmth and love. I want so badly to create the same sort of life, filled with magic and ritual and tradition for my family. I want my children to grow up knowing that being as blessed as we are comes with responsibility to not just give, but to joyously and wholeheartedly give to others less fortunate. I want to cultivate that spirit of service that I saw embodied in the way my parents lived. Somehow though, my inability to focus, or plan or organize combined with my general (endearing) flakiness means that these wishes currently fall under the category of ‘a whole lot of talk and not much action”.

Part of this comes, I know, from my own lack of spiritual direction. I don’t feel like I’ve quite worked out all that I believe yet – and I think that many of the rituals and traditions that bring such beauty and grace into our lives come (either directly or indirectly) from our spiritual beliefs. I feel quite an emotional attachment to the Christian rituals of my childhood, but in all honesty (and I know this may greatly trouble many people reading this) I’ve never been totally comfortable with much of the dogma of organized Christian religion. For me, it’s never quite fit. It’s not that I don’t believe any of it – but rather that I know I believe a whole heck of a lot more. I’m drawn to the ritual of Buddhism, to the history and culture of Judaism and to the foundation of many pagan religions – but don’t know near enough to define my belief system in any concrete way. Without that clear cut definition of who I am spiritually, I find it rather difficult to attach myself to any particular set of spiritual rituals.

Heavy spiritual stuff aside – I’m an idea girl. I’m full of ideas. Great ideas. Big Ideas. Magical Ideas. Ideas that could change the world. However, I suck, suck, suck, suck at follow through. I think or read or dream of all these wonderful things we could do together, all these traditions we could start and carry on year after year. We could go ice skating on Christmas Eve, we could rent Christmas movies and make s’mores and drink homemade cocoa, we could play Secret Santa to a family in need. I make mental notes, I jot them down, and talk to Sam about them, and then – inevitably – I end up forgetting them before they ever become anything more than ideas.

How do you turn an idea into a tradition that will last through the years? The beauty of family ritual is that it is both present and past, both reality and memory all at once. How do I take my random collection of inspiration, my mixed up spiritual leanings and my own personal failings and turn it into the stuff that memories are made of?

I read Brooke and MB’s recent posts with interest, as this topic had already been percolating in my head for some time. I would love to hear from my readers on this one. What do you remember most about your own childhood holidays? Which of these traditions have you carried on for your own family, and what new traditions have you created? Are your rituals religious/spiritual or cultural, centered around food or physical activity? What do you think makes a tradition stand the test of time? What is the best idea for a holiday tradition you’ve heard or read about that you’ve not yet put into action?

I know quite well that intention is often the most vital step, and speaking/writing your intentions can have powerful effects – so in the spirit of the holidays – I intend to actively seek a small collection of activities that appeal to me on different levels, and then work to create the beginnings of my own family traditions. How about you?