Christmas morning at the Cathy’s home began before sunrise. Not with gifts. Not with noise. Not even with breakfast. But with prayer. Cathy’s mom, Tasha’s aunt, always said, “Before we touch a box or a bow, we give thanks for the Gift already given.” So at 6:30 a.m., with the sky still dark blue and the radiators warming the small house, everybody gathered in the living room around the Christmas tree.
The Christmas tree wasn’t flashy. It stood in the corner of the living room, simple, decorated with red and blue lights, handmade ornaments the kids made in past years, popcorn strings, a few glass bulbs, and tiny clothespins holding Bible verse cards—a family tradition.
Each year, every family member wrote a verse on a small card and clipped it to the tree. Tasha had written one a few days before: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?” — Psalm 27:1. Her father used to quote that verse a lot. Especially when Tasha was scared, and on the nights when the world felt too heavy. Now that he was gone, the verse meant more than ever.
They stood in a circle, hands joined, the floor cold beneath their feet. Cathy’s mom led them in prayer:
“Lord, we thank You for Your mercy, for watching over us through another year. For bringing us through loss and new beginnings, for keeping these children safe, and for giving us joy even when life gets heavy.”
Tasha squeezed her cousin’s hand. She felt her aunt’s voice steady, strong, and full of love. Cathy’s mom continued:
“And Father, we thank You for sending Your Son into a troubled world to show us that light still shines in dark places.”
Cathy whispered,
“Amen.”
The younger cousins echoed her. Tasha nodded quietly, feeling warmth rise in her chest.
Breakfast came next—because in this house, faith and nourishment came before gifts.
The meal was simple-pancakes with butter and syrup, bacon, sausage, and biscuits. As they finished eating, the kids bounced in their seats, eager to open presents. Ms. Washington smiled, shaking her head.
“Alright, alright—once we clean this table.”
They returned to the living room, the tree glowing softly. Cathy’s mom always opened the first gift. Her mother used to tell her:
“Let the children see you grateful. They learn gratitude by watching you.”
She opened a small box from Cathy: Inside was a card that said “To the best mama anywhere” and a little crocheted cross she’d made in art class. She pressed it to her chest.
“Oh, baby… thank you.” Cathy beamed.
The rest of the gifts followed: Tasha received a new scarf with matching gloves Cathy got a small cassette player. The younger cousins received puzzles and coloring books. Tasha gave her mom a devotional book of promises from the Bible. The room was filled with the sounds of paper being torn, laughter, kids shouting “Look, look!”, and Ms. Washington repeating, “Now tell them thank you.” It wasn’t a fancy Christmas, but it was full of love.
After the presents, after lunch, and after the kids played with their gifts, the house quieted. Tasha found herself sitting alone by the Christmas tree. She thought about her father. About how he loved Christmas. About how he’d tell her stories of Memphis and the church plays he used to be in. About how he always said:
“God’s light don’t just shine in good times, baby girl. It shines when everything gets hard too.”
She blinked back a tear. The house felt peaceful— but her heart felt tender. She whispered a small prayer of her own:
“Thank You for keeping us. And… thank You for new people in my life too.”
She didn’t say his name out loud. But she meant Derrick.
That night, they bundled up and walked to St. Peter’s AME for the Christmas evening service. The sanctuary smelled of pine wreaths and perfume and old wooden pews warmed by candles. The choir’s voices filled the room: “Go Tell It on the Mountain” then “Jesus, O What a Wonderful Child.” Tasha loved the music. She loved how it made her feel. Her mother’s hand wrapped around hers during prayer time. For a moment, Tasha felt fully held— by family, by faith, by the memory of her father, by the new life they were building.
Later that night, after drinking hot chocolate, after the younger cousins fell asleep on the couch, and after Ms. Washington started tidying the kitchen, the phone rang.
“Tasha, it’s for you.”
Her mother called. She picked it up, her heart quickening.
“Hello?”
Derrick’s voice came through the line—warm, slightly nervous.
“Merry Christmas.”
She smiled into the receiver.
“Merry Christmas, Derrick.”
“How was it?” he asked.
“It was… beautiful,” she said softly. “A lot of church. A lot of family. A lot of love.”
Derrick laughed gently.
“That sounds like a nice Christmas.”
“It is,” she whispered. There was a long, gentle pause—comfortable and warm. Then Tasha added,
“I’m glad you called.”
“Yeah,” Derrick said. “Me too.”
They didn’t talk long. Maybe ten minutes. But it felt nice. A perfect was to end Christmas.
After hanging up, Tasha returned to the living room. The lights on the Christmas tree flickered softly. Her younger cousins slept peacefully. Her mother hummed as she washed dishes. Tasha touched the verse card on the tree.
“The Lord is my light…”
And she felt that light— gently, quietly— settling in her heart. Christmas at the Washingtons wasn’t fancy. But it was full. Full of God. Full of love. Full of healing. Full of hope for the coming year. And Tasha felt grateful. For her family. For her faith. For new beginnings. And yes— for a certain boy who felt like something good waiting just ahead.