ANGELS STILL SING
Traditions in small Oklahoma town predictable, but also always magical
Christmas came to the rural Oklahoma town in which I lived in predictable ways. One tradition centered around the small, red brick church with bell tower located across the street from the town’s two-story W.P.A. schoolhouse.
Each year on Christmas Eve, this little church became a magical place. Its oak pews were filled to overflowing with all the people from the community and with loved ones and friends coming from near and far to the annual Christmas program. In the front corner of the church was a huge Christmas tree cut from one of the pastures around the community and which towered to the top of the 15-foot ceiling. Underneath were piled gifts of all sizes and shape for every child. Tall, red candles set in clear, star-shaped glass holders flickered in every window.
It was a time when my father, mother and brother would load packages in the car and drive the eight blocks to my grandparent’s home. Once they were crowded in the car, we joined my other set of grandparents at the church. Always we would be one of the last to crowd into the pews, getting there just as the bell tolled the time for the program to begin.
The program would be full of reading, trumpet and piano solos, congregation singings of “Silent Night” and children singing “Away in a Manger.” A child would read Luke 2, “The Christmas Story,” to remind us the reason for our gathering. The final event, however, was the singing of “Here Comes Santa Claus” and hearing the “Ho, Ho, Ho” as we witnessed The Real Santa stomping up from the basement!
There was laughter, clapping and great joy as he came down the aisle talking to all and passing out gifts from under the tree. Large brown paper sacks filled with apples, oranges, nuts, chocolates and other candies were given to everyone.
All too soon, the evening was over. Being the last to get there, we were also the last to leave. I well remember the skies on those Christmas Eve nights were especially beautiful. There were few streetlights in our town, and the sky seemed illuminated with light. I often thought I could look up into those skies on that special night and hear the angels joyfully sing just as they did on that Holy Night so long ago.
Until I temporarily moved to California, every Christmas Eve of my life had been spent at that little church with family and friends.
Each year I go back, in body or spirit, to celebrate the remembrances of past Christmases, the joy of the present one, and the hope of the future that Christmas brings.
And I still believe the angels sing. Judy Bettis, née Sloan, grew up in Tryon where she taught school and later served as principal of Jefferson Elementary in Pryor. She and her husband, a childhood friend, live in Stillwater.