Coming from the rural areas of Western North Carolina it has been my privilege to have grown up in a culture where Christian values have been taught and displayed by the loving people of our community ever since I have memory of such things. There are ten churches within the Green River community, most small fellowships numbering one hundred or less and very much unchanged from the times that they were chartered some in the early 1800’s. One of the great traditions within this community is the Christmas plays each puts together during this special holiday season. Coupled with annual homecomings these events add harmony and special times of fellowship within the community structure and are well attended.

The Christmas season is always fun in our community because our church along with others spends great amounts of time and effort into the production of plays, always depicting the true meaning of Christmas being portrayed by members of the congregation. Often times a member within a particular fellowship will write their own play which is then performed at a special service prior to Christmas, one church always has its program on Christmas Eve. My wife PJ wrote one for our church several years back and it was a hit. The more involvement by the congregation the better the program it seems and she had plenty of characters and skits to fill at least one hour. The Nativity is always central in these programs.

I will never forget my first experience being involved in a Christmas program. As youngster of only seven years of age, my parents had taken me and my siblings to the Mount Olivet Christmas Program. Upon our arrival at the church we discovered that one player who was to be a Wiseman in the Nativity had failed to show up for some reason or another and they asked my parents if I might fill in since this was a non-speaking part and required only my presence on stage with my gift to the Baby Jesus. They consented and after getting final instructions from the director I made my entrance and presented my gift, a box wrapped in gold foil paper, supposedly myrrh.

I will never forget this first exposure to the field of drama. The stage was immaculately decorated with such things you might have found in a barn in Bethlehem right down to the bales of hay and mock animals cut out of plywood and painted to look like sheep. We each had costumes. Mine was a bathrobe and a headscarf was provided that gave me an authentic look of The Magi. What I remember most is the feeling of solemnity and reverence in the remembrance and reenactment of the birth of Jesus. Every year my mind goes back to that night where the Prince of Peace was born in a lowly barn stall and laid in a manger. The early experience of being in that first Christmas play certainly has played an important part in this special day.

At the close of my first Christmas play I rejoined my parents who were seated in the pews of the church. MountOlivet as well as most churches gave to all who were there for the program a special brown paper bag which was filled with oranges, apples, nuts, and candy. We delighted in receiving these “pokes” from the church and enjoyed them for weeks after the program.

The churches in our area also have made it a tradition to deliver to folks within the community who are homebound or infirm a special fruit basket. These are delivered sometime prior to Christmas and oftentimes children go along to sing carols to the folks receiving these special baskets. There was one year which lives in my memory which I will always cherish. We had scheduled to deliver a large number of fruit baskets and consequently had divided the baskets among several in order to make all the deliveries; I had five families in Tuxedo.

The day was blue cold and the winds were howling and the skies threatening as I loaded my pick-up with the nicely decorated and full fruit baskets. I had already delivered several before making the turn into the driveway of the Boyd family at the end of MountOlivet road. Granny Boyd and her husband lived in a small house near the trailer of their son, Ray, who had operated a small gift shop in the previous years before the relocation of US 25.

I got the basket assigned to them and made my way to the door. It seemed the temperatures had taken a plunge and I thought to myself I hand this one in and be on my way in a flash. When I knocked on the door I could hear a little stir from within and in a short while Granny Boyd opened the door. When the door opened the hot air from the house almost took my breath. They had cats and the smell of cat litter and cat urine was almost sickening coupled with the intense heat from their coal stove, it must have been at least ninety degrees in the living room. Strangely, she was trembling and could barely talk. She invited me in and as I was entering the house, she said,” They come and got the old man last night.” Upon further conversation I determined Mr. Boyd had been transported by ambulance to the local hospital during the night. Apparently he had suffered a stroke. I learned later in the day that he had died.

As I tried to comfort Mrs. Boyd who was trembling so bad she could hardly stand, I asked if she would like for me to have a word of prayer with her, to which she agreed would be nice. As I prayed that morning in that hot little living room, it seemed we were not the only two people there. It was as if the windows of Heaven opened that morning. It was one of those times when I didn’t dare open my eyes but enjoyed the embrace of one from another world who had stopped by for a much needed visit.

When I left Granny Boyd’s home that morning I felt like I was the most blessed man on earth. She had stopped trembling for a while and the fruit basket seem immaterial. We had both been touched by a Higher Power that morning maybe for different reasons but I sure am glad she was on my list that day.