Every American family celebrates Christmas in their own idiosyncratic way. Some family events are short lived, while others achieve the level of tradition. Here is a glimpse of the Kerns house at Christmas time and three traditions which seem to be putting down roots.

First, let me explain my background. I was a kid in 1965 so I was not subjected to the anti-Christian indoctrination of today’s progressive education system. Marxists simply cannot allow God to hold a position of higher authority than an all-providing government; hence today’s purposeful misapplication of the First Amendment. At our rural Wyoming country school, Christmas was fervently celebrated and we spent weeks in music class practicing every verse of “Silent Night,” “Joy to the World,” plus dozens of others. Our school program truly glorified God exactly as our founders intended and ever since, Christmas has always been special to me. Here we go.

I built my first house in 1991 with a 22 foot living room ceiling. During construction, I anchored a 30 foot section of six-inch well casing from the footings up through the crawl space and into the living room. I welded pipe fittings at the floor and ceiling levels and then boxed the entire assembly behind sheetrock. Visitors standing in the living room never realized the eight foot high box concealed the mother of all Christmas tree stands. Once locked into place, my kids could have built a tree house and held a barn dance in our Christmas tree. It was solid.

The down side to this tradition is now my kids think all Christmas trees must run floor to ceiling and they are not in the holiday spirit unless the tree bends at the top. Last week, my middle daughter Chelsie e-mailed us a picture of their tree wedged in her living room in Fallon, Nevada. It is bent over a good two feet at the top. Nice job Chelsie; another family tradition crosses state lines into the next generation.

Secondly, five years ago, while window shopping at a photography studio, Druann and I spotted a decorative Christmas tree with a couple old time photos adorning its branches. That tripped a shutter in our minds so from that year on we decorated our tree exclusively with white lights and family snap shots; no glass balls, garland or tinsel. Now, in the evenings of the holiday season with a fire crackling in the fireplace and carols in the background, we two empty-nesters wander around our tree reliving the stories captured in each photo as we reminisce about the 38 Christmases God has given us together. It is a warm and meaningful time and I dread the day I have to say good bye to my trophy wife.

Lastly, the singing of carols Christmas Eve has been a long time family tradition. Since most all of us were graduates of Slack School we were just like the old people in church and we didn’t need to read the words from a Hymnal. We belted out every verse from memory; what we lacked in rhythm and tone we made up for with volume. All gathered around the family Yule log, I’m not sure we truly brought glory to God, but I do know He heard us.

In 1995 our Christmas Eve singing tradition moved outside after I purchased my black mule team, Amos and Andy. Their harnesses came with two strings of sleigh bells and when hitched to a hay rack loaded with family and friends we looked and sounded like we had just fallen off a Norman Rockwell Christmas Card. My kids grew up thinking we were normal and I have so many wonderful memories of the singing voices with the background of the bells jingling with every foot strike of the trotting mules. Those were glorious family times.

Christmas Eve will be different in 2010. At the age of 30, the ceaseless passing of time and the cold of winter have permanently unhitched my mule team. On December 9th, Amos laid down on the frozen ground of a Wyoming hay meadow to never rise again. This Christmas, Andy stands in the corral alone.

I truly wish everyone a very merry Christmas. If you’ve never felt close to God perhaps now is the time. May His presence warm and comfort you during these trying times of our great American republic.