I was born into TLT church so for as long as I can remember and can’t, I
have been attending the December retreat camp. Usually, the retreat ended
on Christmas day or a day before Christmas. At the end of W.F Kumuyi’s
message, there was always a “God bless you and merry Christmas.” I
always looked forward to that phrase and it gave me great joy. Why? I
cannot say. It could be that I was overjoyed that at least there was a little
recognition of this great day or it could be that I was excited because that
meant the official end of the retreat. I do not know why but I had come to
hold that period in my heart with so much reverence.
Then a day came when our head pastor’s Christmas day message was about
how Christmas is sinful or rather, we had our facts wrong. After that
message, I knew he would never say “God bless you and merry Christmas.”
The whole church went into hysteria, those who took his words as the bible,
formed a deep hatred for the day and others argued that his verdict was
wrong. But in the end, his words meant a lot to the whole church, so just
like that it was Deeper Life against Christmas.
They would end the December retreat a day or two after Christmas so that
we would not celebrate the day. My siblings were hysterical and
complained every single time about how wrong it was and would have
arguments with my father. From what I remember, my father did not care.
He didn’t think Christmas was wrong but he didn’t care enough to fight for
it.
Slowly there was a resignation in all of us. We stopped arguing and trying
to prove our points because we knew there was no use. All we thought in
our souls was, “One day, I will leave this church.” And just like that,
Christmas did not hold joy anymore, it became just a day.”
But every single Christmas I think of only one person. I think of her smile
and gracefulness, her dreamy eyes and serious resolution. I think of my
mother. My mother loves Christmas more than anyone I have ever met.
And when I think back to the Christmas season I think of her holding my
hand and smiling in front of the Arowojobe estate gate. I think of her CD of
Carol songs she brought out every Christmas and the Christmas lights she
would put up. I believe fond memories I have of the season. The joy of
Christmas is a red room and my smiling mother.
he verdict of our pastor definitely hurt her, probably more than anyone
because she talked about it and expressed herself, something she rarely
does. She would talk about how soon she would celebrate Christmas in all
its glory and all its light. And I held her words with hope.
Years passed on and we stopped going to retreats. But by that time we had
lost the Christmas lights and my mother’s CD of Carol songs I believe;
along with these, we lost all the care in the world for Christmas.
MEMORIES BY Olufemi Oreoluwa
But she didn’t. We would all see her nostalgia and longing. She
would tell us about how she lived with her uncle in a onebedroom flat and even in that tiny space they would decorate
the whole place and kill a Guinea fowl. I know that in her heart
she is waiting for the day when we all would celebrate
Christmas to its full capacity.
I remember when she went to visit my sister in Canada, and my
sister texted “mommy loves Christmas”, and we all replied with a
“we know” but she told us that it was more than we ever knew.
I was glad that she celebrated Christmas, and held snow which we
knew she was excited to do. At least she got to celebrate
Christmas and love it. I believe it must have been hard because no
one could relate to her or feel her pain during the season. I mean,
we were all aware that we had lost something but then it was
something we never truly heard, so how were we supposed to
feel? How were we supposed to mourn its loss?
I often wondered if my mother’s joy was normal and if that was
how the average person felt about Christmas. I do not know till
now. But I do know that joy was not borne from days lived in
Deeper Life, I know it was born from days before the church. The
joyful nostalgia that hits her every single Christmas period will
always fascinate her.
My mother is not one for festivities and shows of emotions. She
doesn’t even hold birthdays in high esteem, but Christmas is an
entirely different ball game. The writer in me is often fascinated
by my mother’s mind and thoughts because it seems to hold great
secrets. I hope one day she will tell us more about the things that
happened during Christmas and why the joy of that season in her
heart is evergreen.
I do not care much for festivities, they have all slowly lost their
touch. And in truth, it is no one’s fault but my growing anxiety and
my disillusion with the way the world works. That happened from
an early age.
While I believe my siblings and I might be a lost cause, I hope the
younger generations of the Olufemi family won’t be one. I hope
we can pass our mother’s joy down to younger ones to come. And
they will be able to have such great memories of Christmas, that
even on hard days, their love will remain evergreen and be a
source of joy.
This is the point of Christmas to me.
